Watchmaker Of Lost Time
© Surazeus
2025 07 15

The fallen tree in the forest of names
sends nurse of sorrow to look after me,
and give me darkness with hands of cold fire
so mushrooms of wisdom sprout from my brain
which spawns from ghostly silence of my heart
wild children who gaze at me with strange eyes.

Awake as the Watchmaker of lost time
in my garden home near Vesuvius,
I whisper spells to counter jinx of faith
that unwinds beautiful vision of Earth
my mind creates from random memories
to forget god of unbearable truth.

Amazed by beauty of the butterfly
who transforms into the lame-footed girl
wearing long white gown of delicate lace,
I accept sweet tangerine of her heart
then shelter her from storms of daily life
while she crafts rainbows into pearls of light.

Minerva caresses his cheek with love
as Sylphus weeps for each raindrop of light
that dissolves with beauty of everything,
then holds his hand as they stroll by the lake
and listen to the crickets in the reeds
sing the names of souls who have lived and died.

Despite strange calculus of honesty
he calculates from bitter words of kings,
sly Sylphus steals fruit from the Tree of Life
and gives them to the girl with moon-black eyes
who bakes them into pies with cinnamon
which hungry people stand in line to buy.

When hopeless horror at the state of life,
that twists our nation with harsh tyranny,
cripples her mind with depression from fear,
Minerva hibernates in hollow cave
to nurture tender passion of her heart
so she can emerge reborn from despair.

Lost in the darkness of the holy woods,
where pictures of gods on trunks of old trees
reflect various aspects of her vast soul,
Minerva spins in tapestry of truth
random events from tragic human lives
so we pretend this world is paradise.

Though the dead seem to live in memories
that flash as visions in our aching hearts,
they all will vanish as dust in the wind
when we too sink in dreamless sleep of death
so, since all memories will disappear,
I treasure them in my still-living mind.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus and Ophelia visit Sylphus and Minerva at their home beneath the rumbling mountain to eat apple pie till the end of the world.

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

Since Love Survives All
© Surazeus
2025 07 15

We must love one another, though we die,
I hear the mordant oak-tree wizard cry,
for even love is not stronger than death
just because two statues in a cold stone church
hold hands for six hundred years of fierce wars,
yet love survives all our vicissitudes.

This naked passion from sharp tender shock,
that reveals instinctual capacity
for humans to ignite new flames of love
each time we face terrible circumstance,
tears mask of irony off our love-pulsing soul
so we lie exposed to self-mockery.

Mature sophistication of contempt
through ambiguity of earnestness
shields hearts against ecstatic utterance
with barbed irony of moral respect
which we erect around vulnerable minds
to erase consolatory shame of hope.

Though bitter men with guns of mindless rage
rampage across the landscape of our faith,
arresting innocent people they deem
threats to their weakly false authority,
our love for people living in this land
gives our hearts strength to fight their tyranny.

Though we are all strangers in this strange land,
immigrating from many different lands,
where blood-bound nations unify for strength,
we share one basic principle of faith
that every person living on this globe
has equal rights to liberty and justice.

They try to crush our knowledge institutes
to destroy our world view of measured truth,
for ignorant people are easy to rule,
but we share wisdom our forefathers gleaned
to compose new scripture of global truth
that guides our creative progress with facts.

By wielding sword of truth with fearless faith
that love conquers all arrogant contempt
we find ambiguous courage to defend
rights of every human on spinning Earth
to live free from exploitation of greed
as we build Garden of Eden for all.

We must love one another, though we die,
expressing intense energy of hope
because we create, rather than destroy,
garden of fruit where every human being
lives free to pursue their creative dream,
since love survives all our vicissitudes.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus drinks beer with Larkin and Auden as they discuss recurrent rise of fascist thugs who try to exert power of tyranny to exploit the people for their personal gain out of fear of love.

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

Museum of the Lost Face
© Surazeus
2025 07 14

Imperfect as this life can seem to be
I will open the can of sweet cream corn
to eat the beauty of the sunsetting sun
that screams with pleasure in the tangled trees
while I row my boat on the dreamless stream
to free the country of mad prisoners.

Each time she calls me on the telephone
I carve another name on the death bone
to buy bold confidence with fractured coins
while staring at the ceiling of the mind,
then glare down at the wicked human race
and sneer at their pathetic games of fame.

My strength is proof of infidelity
defined by dictionary of street slang
to mean reprisal of the haughty clown
who steals the family jewels from his god
after he swallows handful of red pills
that blow his mind with television truth.

Despite ringing of the bicycle bell
to warn the city of the hurricane,
the lonely girl in her hospital bed
devises ways to keep them occupied
when children wake from their magazine world,
eager to shoot guns at shadows of fear.

Awake in unfamiliar place of faith,
somewhere beyond the rainbow of her fear,
I forge new vision of the holy ghost
wearing flower dress as she fries pancakes
and pours syrup of her mouth on my heart
because our weird world is falling apart.

I search for truth on your side of the river
that splits the difference through theology
based on transcendent vision of the fool
who buries religious lies in the field
that shimmers red with the Indian Paintbrush
so I try to sleep off this tragedy.

Foul aroma of stories in new books,
that whitewash cruel history of slavery
with lies that slaves were happy for the work
and rejoiced in the dirt shacks where they lived
when they sing the blues in hot cotton fields,
infiltrate my brain with wealth privilege.

Stopping in Museum of the Lost Face,
Sylphus stares at portrait of Mona Lisa
who smiles at him with knowingness of love,
so he takes her hand and they walk away
far down the highway of the singing ghost
who sells salvation to the bitter king.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus studies the painting called the Mona Lisa to understand the mysterious complexity of the beautiful human soul.

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

Psychic Code We Use
© Surazeus
2025 07 14

Watching the kestrel glide above the pines,
Sylphus whispers with awe of butterflies,
then scans darkling woods with laser-beam eyes
to find electric beetle of the mind
which tells him of the psychic code we use
to help each other explain world we see.

Driving silver car on the crowded highway,
Sylphus navigates the world-city maze
to find Elysium beneath tall glass towers,
frustrated at elusive paradise
till the star-elf begins to realize
there is no Promised Land that we could find.

Climbing winding stairs in the crystal palace,
Sylphus studies constellations that gleam
on high arched ceiling of the mirrored hall
to find the secretive Weaver of Dreams,
Apollon Oneiros, in library hall,
busy building virtual worlds of our minds.

Cautiously approaching the Shaper Demon,
Sylphus requests with trepidatious voice
if he could dream about the Dancing Woman,
Queen Ishtar, who invented all religions,
so they could dance together on the shore,
but he finds himself outside the locked door.

Attempting to steady the silent glare,
Sylphus rides the white horse of potency
swiftly everywhere along winding rivers
to ask the people farming fertile fields
if they need protection from tyranny,
which traps him in the television screen.

Lifting dream-camera swift to his eye,
Sylphus gazes through kaleidoscope lens
to study the Great Egret with gold beak
that wades in silver waters of the flood,
then leaps on her back and embraces tight
as she soars up into the gleaming sky.

Unwinding atom clock of our strange world,
Sylphus redesigns how we see its forms
by inventing new language that describes
complexity of everything in poems
while he eats holy apple of the sun
that throbs with the ceremonial drum.

Translating song of the Raven to riddles,
Sylphus smiles at how his dream code describes
how rain laughs sideways to cleanse aching hearts
that teem with thunderous claps of the mind
though he weeps for all the good people killed
till they appear as masks on temple walls.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus photographs Sylphus as he poses with long robe of great egret feathers in ruins of the temple on the island of vision-chanting skulls.

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

Belili Writes My Name
© Surazeus
2025 07 14

The casual way he talks about the sea
confuses horses of posterity
with valiant monuments to memories
that crumble into sand with turn of time
which shall erase all names of humankind
for we are broken statues of the mind.

With hungry hearts of anguish for the truth
we march with laurel branches and death spears
to escort with wild cheers of angry hope
the banker and the fishwife in gold carriage
knee-deep on muddy roads in pouring rain
back to the Bastille and its bloody flags.

When frightful demon of the cursed abyss,
disguised as star-eyed cardinal of faith,
reveals the entrance to the Underworld,
I strum my lyre to play ethereal tunes
and tread the fragile bridge of groaning bones
to find soul of the woman I love most.

I kneel before Belili on her throne
and offer basket of plums from my heart,
so she accepts with beaming moon-bright smile
and eats my heart with serpent teeth of love
that makes me writhe with ecstasy of faith
till my brain explodes with the lightning flash.

Stuck now in portal of the fractured world,
I feel my body pulse with eager lust
to generate new body for my soul
so I can walk the world of hills and lakes
four hundred million years of bitter strife
to transcend my weakness with loyal love.

Since death is opposite of leaving you
I curl my spirit in your aching heart
which drives your passion to live for each hour
as we walk far around the spinning Earth
one million times to find the Promised Land
that has always existed in my mind.

Belili gives me book of writhing ghosts
and asks me to give each new-designed soul
the secret name that keys their fate in life
so they can make the mask they want to wear
based on how ancestral memories guide
each choice they make that results in rebirth.

Belili writes my name with sizzling blood
on stone walls of cathedrals in the sea
to conjure demon of my heart from Hell
so I have power of the honest sword
to cast the tyrant from the throne of truth
so she can reign again as Queen of Earth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus offers Belili gift of the scroll he made with dragon skin after writing epic tales of her achievements with demon blood.

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

Tombstones Of Weird Fame
© Surazeus
2025 07 13

I have too many reasons not to waste
long rainy evening of the albatross
attempting to locate the island ghost
who steals my questions in the country song
with anguished cry of angels in the woods
who sell no happiness to mortal souls.

Returning to the country of my heart
where I kneel in stark ruins of the church,
I hide sweet sorrow of the falling rain
with bitter laughter of my ugly pain
because we travel on the road of dreams
to smile forever almost reaching home.

Tonight I serve rendition of false thoughts
to pilot plane of grace beyond my death
with eager passion of oblivious faith
to modify fierce action of my heart
with honest arrogance of Gabriel
when I refuse to mute my messages.

Electric rivers of conceptual words
flow through taut veins of hungry potencies
enough to open doors of wrinkled fear
contrived by gleam of fractured surfaces
easy enough for children to regret
erasing names from tombstones of weird fame.

No angels dare to speak to me of truth
once ribald horn of pulsing light escapes
fleet glances lovers trade for time of faith
since ribbons of respect unravel ruth
more miserable than dreamers without eyes
who seek to understand the art of love.

With sacred passion of the fractured mind
I burn discarded fragments of my life
through ardent ecstasy of avid hope
for flawed regression of unspoken grief
contained in fragile features of the leaf
which traps my spirit flight in supple bone.

Mysterious wing of transient prudency
bears me to cave of sun-reflected trees
where kind Medusa offers me sweet wine
that stirs my long-numb heart with earnest faith
that I may yet survive the balanced day
through resurrection of the shadow mind.

The rain that always falls from dreamless eyes
refracts attentive prophecy of fate
that blooms from hungry hollow of the well
though wind may lift my body from the Earth
and waft my spirit to the Promised Land
where you will find me waiting by the door.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus plays romantic tunes on the lyre while Gabriel asks Medusa to marry him after their romantic dinner at the restaurant by the river of tears.

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

Fake Wings Of Icarus
© Surazeus
2025 07 13

Searching for heroes to defend the people
against exploitation of oligarchs,
I fly over lands of America
forever on fake wings of Icarus
till I fall exhausted back in my room
where faceless ghosts call out my name for help.

Translating songs of trees to clever jokes
that mock obsessive greed of oligarchs,
I stumble through maze of America
forever on fake wings of Icarus
despite belief of all my loyal fans
that I can drive Godzilla back to Hell.

Leaping into swirling portals of time
to wrestle oligarchs on every world,
I map multiverse of America
forever on fake wings of Icarus
beyond the waste land of our singing skulls
alone down highway of loud radios.

Kicking soccer-ball moon across the sky
to score more goals against cruel oligarchs,
I study ruins of America
forever on fake wings of Icarus
long fallen from grace of democracy
and fettered by the chains of tyranny.

Recording soundtrack of the howling wolf
to fight the vampire oligarchs for wealth,
I deconstruct fate of America
forever on fake wings of Icarus
before the second coming of the lord
who claims he alone rules the universe.

Patrolling frontier of our nation-state
to defend Garden of Eden from thieves,
I plow lush wheatfields of America
forever on fake wings of Icarus
to free migrant workers from slavery
so every man can farm his private land.

Painting murals that depict social heroes
fighting conspiracies of oligarchs,
I maintain justice in America
forever on fake wings of Icarus
though I fall into sea of twisted laws
to battle truth-starving Cetus of greed.

Climbing Mount Parnassus in dawn light
to seek oracle of the singing skull,
I calculate faith of America
forever on fake wings of Icarus
for Orpheus Christ in temple of truth
who prophesies rise of Zarathia.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus walks the vast maze of America, singing hymns as countless people join his march for justice and freedom for every person living in this land.

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

Faceless Ghosts Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 07 12

When the red skimmer dragonfly alights
on edge of my book to gaze in my eyes
and seek the true facts about my weird life,
I sell nostalgia to the hungry souls
who seek to understand the precious thoughts
that drive me mad with wisdom of the sky.

Souls of all my ancestors in one ghost
wind clock-spring cobwebs of my dreamless mind
to unfreeze undulating wheel of time
which teaches my heart wisdom of old pain
with creak of wings that crack idol of faith
too like my fake face carved in effigy.

Stuck in the Garden called Gethsemane
with the cup of sorrow I wish to drink,
I give my twisted heart to my true love
who reaches down into the underworld
to grasp my hand and lift me from my doom
so we can drink and dance on rain-wet grass.

Thus I unthink the roaming storm of fear
that wanders carelessly across our land
wrecking destruction of uncertainty
when people swim in sudden flood of truth
that washes all we built far out to sea
where we become fish skeletons of death.

Yet, calm in sturdy riverboat of faith,
I glide across the waveless gleam of light
that shimmers clear with glass of ancient minds
frustrated that dark shadows of desire
writhe still concealed in books of holy writ
which bloom as apple trees from muddy shores.

Out of that empty sky our eyes fall slow
with snowflake dizziness of anguished hope
for metaphysic birds from humble hills
unfolding endless pages of new books
that help us center our wild hearts with love
in piles of leaves that rustle in the breeze.

Bent over chessboard of world history,
I note how kings maneuver gangs of thieves
while I play blindfolded against kind Death
who shows me angels on telephone poles
hung from electric wires of ardency
through voices from the faceless ghosts of faith.

Stuck in the hell loop of my random life,
reliving every moment when I failed
to play standard role of obedient fool,
I tear off black robe of false penitence
and dance with wild abandon of the lost
when I find myself deep inside my heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus drinks wine as he watches home movies of his childhood in Olympus that shows Apollo trying to teach him to play the lyre while Aphrodite dumps mud on his head and laughs.

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

Equal Under One Fair Law
© Surazeus
2025 07 12

Each time I return from oblivion
I find the secret voice of my old heart
buried in wretched suffering of the Earth
from which I break free at call of the wild
to flash awake from center of my life
as deep blue shadow of the singing sea.

Far out between the shadow and the form
I orchestrate conceptual game of dream
to measure vastness of my wordless prayers
that veil this world of sorrow from your eyes
so you believe this hell is paradise
with laughter of stones in the river flow.

We drive out to the endless ocean shore
where wind and light are tangled in the stones
which form foundation of the sideways sea
that glitters mirror-perfect with our souls
concealed in swans that flock along the waves
with headstrong passion of the knowing heart.

With flight of eagerness to capture joy
we crest excessive waves of frantic faith
through ordered neitherness of soft despair
despite cold-hearted loyalty we trade
to guard this garden built with bleeding hands
till events clutter our forgotten past.

Bewildered by nextness of anywhere,
we go nowhere on signless road of fate
to recognize achievements of great fools
who plunge into dangerous state of affairs
with pride to risk the comforting reward
for the fleeting chance to win glorious fame.

Replacement for my hand of broken wings
arrives with weeping skeletons of fame
who kneel to greet obscure reality
with solemn hymns that shake cathedral walls
that cost us our belief in justice served
unfolding with the consequence of hope.

Artful eccentricity of my aim
communicates aberrant thrust of truth
to vary avoidance of willed intent
which misdirects attention of the mind
focused on comprehension of respect
so we can evade delicate despair.

Yet pink lotus that blooms from mud of hate
conjugates straight rays of eternal light
through that delicate frame of reference
which seeks to revise the world view we share
so every person living on this Earth
is treated equal under one fair law.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus films flock of swans gliding along the ocean shore for his documentary on how nations fall under tyranny.

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

Stuck In Walls Of Tyranny
© Surazeus
2025 07 11

If my heart were to close in moonlit woods
before I can measure scale of the world,
I will have to prove to the faceless ghosts
that my body casts no shadow on Earth,
therefore I have no fear of nothingness
for my atoms are everything that is.

Since I inherit warm breath of my mother
I hold silence of the garden with care
to meditate beneath the ancient oak
about why people still believe prayer works
when expressing their will with intense faith
makes nothing happen in the world of forms.

Yet truth about foreverness of faith
emerges from constricted heart that knows
between explosions of collective fear
which sprout from seeds of hidden memory
since time is endless flow of molecules
that swirl through psychic waves of energy.

If I take tattered sandals off my feet
to kneel before the burning bush of faith,
aware that everything alive will die,
I might almost understand tweets of birds
who argue over who will breed with whom
with intimate play in the urban space.

I am no stranger without mask of god
who stumbles lost in spiritual terrain
for I perceive this world of changing forms
through framework of nostalgic ardency,
too honest to get trapped by agony
because I speak with fiery tongues of angels.

We comfort each other with loving touch
through endless devastation of world wars,
hearts stuck in frozen centuries of gloom,
till with nuance of outrage at injustice
we sell each other honest sympathy
that teaches us the smell of ripened fruit.

Now safe in sanctuary of our hearts
we dwell in homeland of our memory
through survival mechanism of hope
that lights our winding way among our graves
so we can drive to work just before dawn,
stuck in traffic on the capital bridge.

Despite our tragic emptiness of faith
we program new perspectives of the Earth
to look beyond the surface of our pain
so we can find the hidden root of rage
that fuels our headlong rush to paradise
where we get stuck in walls of tyranny.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus gives us roadmaps that show us how to unstuck our souls from unjust walls of tyranny.

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

Harsh Times Of War
© Surazeus
2025 07 11

Alert to how car engines imitate
angelic song of waterfalls in moonlight,
I race through shadows of the lonely woods
to find glass temple of the laughing god
so I can save the person I love most
from losing their face to the tides of time.

The charming ring of bells at opened door
startles my heart with anguish of new hope
when bombs destroy the quaint world we create
since people fight to play the roles of fate
yet leave their happy children to grow fierce
in beautiful ruins of fallen empires.

Bitter lessons learned in harsh times of war,
long hidden in bleak hollow of the door,
leak bloody tears of sorrow at the hour
when the lame angel who fell from the sky
returns to seek vengeance against the queen
who killed anyone who opposed her rule.

Yet all I want on summer afternoons
is peaceful hours of timeless lassitude,
relaxed in soft embrace of your respect
while we read books of heroes fighting wars
in lands too far away to be this real
when helicopters flit across the sky.

Our shuttered library of mourning ghosts
reluctantly conceals our naked souls
when we are dazzled by electric faith
that swells our hearts with greatness of true love
till we all dissipate to mindless dust
that forms foundation of the city maze.

Elastic shadow of my solar soul
stretches fiscal strategies of faith
with trickery of the temporal poltergeist
who ransacks my brain for lost memories
to build new empire of glass hospitals
that heal the sick with music of the spheres.

Regret for tangled roots of energy
disburses wealth in splashing rain of faith
when Jingyi walks along the wooden bridge
with everything she knows in her white purse
to kneel before Kwan Yin in temple dome
who gives her peach of salutary grace.

Though we vacation on the pristine beach
far from centers of global politics,
strolling leisurely lost as we hold hands,
gangs of angry boys with machine guns run
through maze of streets to shoot the holy ghost
where Mary cradles her crucified son.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus and Ophelia stroll along the beach in Florida while the rest of the world gets tangled in geopolitical conflicts over nationalist ideologies of religious faith.

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

White-Crowned Eagle
© Surazeus
2025 07 11

Through infinite nesting of my dream state
I spiral inward to dark core of being
by boring roots of neurons from my brain
to find original source of all light
that gleams with bright eternal flame of thought
in hollow nothingness of everything.

Recessive advance back to the first seed
from which the universe flares forth in form,
containing every atom of my soul
which clusters hope with components of faith
designed by immortal soul of my genes,
fuels my progress to become my true self.

When Michael wakes from early morning dream,
he dons combat fatigues with carbine rifle
and patrols mountain valley in Alaska
where he sees Morpheus, grim lord of dreams,
wearing wolf-fur cape blown by river breeze,
as he builds enormous castle of sand.

Ten thousand airplanes, bearing the red star
on silver wings, loom over mountain peaks,
so Michael gasps when millions of lithe soldiers
parachute from heaven on white silk wings,
to occupy the whole Pacific coast
from Alaska stretching to California.

For over four thousand four hundred years
my ancestors with bold courageous hearts
have guarded homelands of their fertile tribes
since Sargon the Great ruled the Akkad Empire,
so I must ask myself this forfeit hour
how I shall now guard America well.

Weakened by fierce nationalist divisions,
based on racist creed of superior worth,
the peoples of America contend
over who claims right to live in this land
instead of joining forces with firm faith
to protect our states from invading armies.

All three nations of North America
should unite in state of Wohalia,
lead by the white-crowned eagle of our faith,
to fight invaders from across the sea
who seek to divide us with racist hate
so they can conquer and control our land.

America is based on Liberty
and Justice for each person in this land,
regardless of their race, gender, or creed,
for every tribe that lives on spinning Earth
is welcome to join our experiment
in state that unites all humans in one.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus founds Wohalia Empire and builds new capital city in North Dakota along the Missouri River.

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

Cold Indifferent Moon
© Surazeus
2025 07 10

Ghosts of the dead float glowing in the sky,
dangling from long electric wires of faith,
eyes gleaming bright as billion-year-old stars
that make our aching hearts torn by despair
feel as if the universe cares for us,
so we pray to the cold indifferent moon.

The moon knows nothing of our suffering,
yet we pray up to her with fervent faith
for calming comfort of her gleaming rays
that pierce our heart with silence of contempt
so we throw stones that transform into stars
which glitter in the window of our home.

Kate walks along the dirt road at sunset
to find Dave lingering by the chain-link gate,
bolted shut against his helpless urgency,
that leads to large deserted factory
where he worked twenty years after high school
till the owner fled with the cash to Russia.

The silver moon gleams bright rays on his face,
gaunt cheeks unshaven under brittle skin,
and eyes that search for faith in the dim gloom
with frantic shifting of the victimized,
so Kate reaches out warm hand of concern
though Dave babbles with lunatic despair.

The moon is nothing more than clump of rocks
that floats around the Earth in airless void,
but Dave cries out to her with anguished hope
that she will understand his suffering
and thus manipulate the gears of time
to shift our world on track for liberty.

Since no voice booming from the starry sky
confirms request to grant his soul success,
Dave aims large pistol at his pulsing skull
to drive the howling demons from his brain,
but Kate grabs his wrist and stares in his eyes
as if to activate his will to life.

Lone truck with gleaming headlights crunches past
to whisk the heretic of blinding faith
to large detention center in the desert
where he is chained and forced to kneel and bow,
but he conjures from rotten brains of rage
attentive mission to restore our faith.

Faith in the cold indifference of fate
swells fiercely bold in aching heart of hope,
so, holding hands with Kate in loyal pride,
he strides determined to open new shop
where he repairs engines of cars he built
but someone torches his garage with hate.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus lounges in the lobby, reading War and Peace, while Dave works on fixing the engine of his Mazda and Kate paints history mural on the wall.

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

Special Gift Of Openness
© Surazeus
2025 07 10

When angels form alliance of the heart
with honest devils through acuity
derived from laughing elegance of flight,
the star-eyed kestrel of the burning bush
bears silver tablet of my naked mind
that maintains special gift of openness.

When I achieve stark stillness of the heart
on breath of floating calm aghast with faith,
receptive passion of blue mountains links
aggressive storm of animating wind
to shocked surprise of strange iconic truth
that elevates thought beyond silent walls.

Beyond next level of false paradise
my shadow-winding heart transcends this plane
through ardent wisdom of the falling snow
when death arrives to measure how my heart
forgets vain vastness of brave victory
when leaping into the future unknown.

Insurgent art of fame-signaling flames
provides framework for savior without wings
to lead quest for manifest destiny
by plunging into chaos of desire
to answer challenge of meaningful code
that realigns apocalyptic times.

Since I never tire of demanding love
from our indifferent universe of forms,
my talented friends with eccentric tools
explore bleak wilderness of money games
designed to kill all contestants for wealth
when cells transform with spinal filaments.

My buoyant body floating in the sea
seeks subtle flight of elemental peace
when pressure produces fissures of faith
to scramble knowledge spells with wretched jokes
while seeking beauty in truth of the world
when people kill and die to rule the dirt.

Controlled toxins regulate my soul
with gradual revolution of mind change
that sparks beginning of our global rise
from peaceful farmers to fierce conquerors
inspired by self-sacrifice that Jesus made
to save his bitter tribe from slavery.

Concealed in coded fairy tales of fate,
by proverbs twisted into moral rules,
our dreams for world peace of United Nations
blooms fragile as the tattered tapestry
Penelope unravels from our brains
with hands that know the structure of our hearts.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus films Ophelia while she weaves tapestry of silk that shows Penelope unraveling the tapestry which shows the rise of Zarathia from the ruins of America.

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

Ghosts On Mount Olympus
© Surazeus
2025 07 10

When I inhale forgotten memories
fierce feelings sprout wings from my wounded heart
so I fly far across the spinning world
to find the place I invent in my mind
where I may overcome my opposite,
and dwell in comfort of sorrow expressed.

This world is not the one in which I fell
asleep with blanket of religious faith
as time shifts gears of knowledge one notch more
which leaves me stranded on the windy shore,
so I rise from my bed of tangled roots
to don my wolf-fur cape and leather boots.

Ascending steep slope to the mountain peak
to find beyond horizon of my faith
sun-gleaming towers of our Shangri-La,
I peer in wind-whipped swirls of moon-white snow
to see golden arches of that cafe
where tourists eat hamburgers with root beer.

Bewildered by vision of paradise,
I stumble in large cave of shadowed fears
to shelter from the reckless storm of time,
but find large statue of Copernicus
holding armillary sphere in his hand
that represents the roundness of our world.

When the snowstorm dissipates with soft voice
of cupids fluttering wings by rivulets,
I see Ganymede with Liberty Cap
kneeling on the broad rocky mountain slope
with bowl of wine for his eagle to drink
as he caresses feathers of her head.

Stepping gingerly over jagged stones
splintered loose from cliffs by expanding ice,
I see young mother with gossamer wings
lift baby cupid from the crowded crib,
kiss his cheek, then toss him into the air
so my wild angel soars into the clouds.

Startled by herd of goats clattering their hoofs
on river stones, I huddle by pine tree
twisted by four thousand years of wild wind,
and find myself beside their grinning shepherd,
Faunus lounging in goat-fur pants and boots
while Latinus plays panpipes on his knee.

Snapping photos of ghosts on Mount Olympus
with my eye-phone, I wander in mute ruins
of that ancient temple where Zeus played host
with feasts and stage shows for time travelers
till relentless shifting of the universe
erased their memories from all human minds.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus teaches Latinus how to play the lyre while singing epic narrative tales about the human adventure exploring the world of mountains and seas.

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

Tangled Web Of Tales
© Surazeus
2025 07 09

Striated currents of strange memories
stamp my face with token of swaddled luck
consistent with self-knowledge of mute rain
based on analysis of fractured facts
collected by angelic satellites
to map asynoptic patterns in charts.

Retributive disguise my ghost contrives
teaches me how to prepare for the hour
when I will stand before tribune with pride
to challenge angels wielding swords of flame
with cultured grace of pretentious contempt
based on indifference of nature I code.

Old-fashioned beauty hidden in her heart
exposes glorious passion for the truth
which still inspires lethargic clowns to fight
for equal opportunities to work
after we testify in court of power
about adventures to the Promised Land.

Eager to channel psychic energy
through tangled roots of simulated words
designed to imitate the albatross
as symbol that must designate free will,
I lift weight of my ardent soul to prove
spiritual breath fuels engine of the brain.

Somewhere in sunburnt pastures of lost hope
my heart explores vicinity of fear
to empty hollow arrogance of faith
from forgotten traumatic memories
contained by powerlines on ice-cracked poles
that weave our hearts in tangled web of tales.

Ophelia sweeps dry leaves in piles of souls
who whisper sorrows with windchimes of whimsy
which urges me to wake from lethargy
and speak of crimes that oligarchs commit
which contains their destructive force of hate
within bright apparition of some god.

Unnoticed by strangers in our strange land,
I build new city of sadness and laughter
to show our doubts are insignificant
compared by formulas for mental states
invented by the woman with twelve wings
who bids me record for posterity.

Since I am able to write from the grave
about objective things with words I love,
I hold my sweetheart in protective arms,
then gaze with curiosity of trust
in mirror eyes black as the midnight moon
to see real beauty of her inner soul.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus unravels tangled web of tales to find true history of his mother who was murdered by the tyrant for refusing to be his nineteenth wife.

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

Bridges Of Remembrance
© Surazeus
2025 07 09

The river we all cross with cautious hope
remembers secret sorrows of our hearts
that we never share with penurious words
because we choose to howl with mountain wolves
instead of hiding inside walls of stone
where apples bloom that we can never eat.

So I fling soundless radiance of my voice
far out beyond frail bubble atmosphere
to gleam as silver pearl of my god brain
that streaks as ghostly beam of aching truth
encoding dreams of my experience
in frantic fairy tales through ecstasy.

From silver abyss of my dreamless brain
ghost of my will emerges on broad wings
of urgent gossamer unwoven from dead stars
that leaves me standing mute on river shore
when I forget that terrifying scene
of broken bodies lunging at iced air.

Deep beneath endless layers of blank words
soft whispers forged by holy tongues of fire
describe how ocean waves program my brain
with swirling thoughts of visionary fate
which urges me to rise with intense will
from mute paralysis of honest fear.

Erased by sudden lighting flash of truth
that luminates the timeless world of change,
I sink into bright abyss of my heart
where flame of cosmic atoms pulsing deep
proceeds with coils of carbon catalyst
as agent that provokes evolving souls.

Fierce wind cracks silver mirror of the sky,
stunned by aggressive voices of our hearts
with calm consideration we exchange
for burning stones extending thoughtless grace
that transforms how we see the universe
through realignment of electric faith.

Deliberate laughter fraught with bitter angst
reveals with sudden strike of fantasy
truth vandalized by tangled roots of trees
when threading secret codes in skeletons
that dance with lightning flash of potency
contained in framework of the holy book.

Therefore we congregate with honest hearts
to build bridges of remembrance from despair
connecting distant lands of rigid rites
with common elements all humans share
that prove we all are equal on this Earth,
born on the level playing field of respect.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus studies the lightning storm, recording data with machines in his van, to analyze electric personality of Zeus.

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

Amused By Games Of Power
© Surazeus
2025 07 09

While falling head-down in abyss of faith
with pages of books as feathers on wings,
Fyodor and Fanny sing heart-warming hymn
about strange beauty of this cluttered world
to find inside cracked stone of timeless light
fate-rooted cipher of seductive truth.

When gold cathedral bells of holy angst
ring in the mist that shrouds conceptual ruins,
Fyodor and Fanny kneel with humble hope
by Pool of Narcissus to slake their thirst
so they can speak of things that must exist
encoded in weird language they invent.

Filled with excess idolatry for fame,
which they wear as crown of thorns in church pageants,
Fyodor and Fanny climb the dusty hill
where deviant angels of the empire live
beneath grim shadow of the giant sign
which advertises fun in paradise.

Though names we speak give birth to faceless ghosts
who tend Garden of Eden with bare hands,
Fyodor and Fanny visit the last God
grown so old from worship of blind fools
that he is now the prototype he hates,
whose blood is syrup of the singing tree.

Rescued from sharp delirium of fear
by the Big Bad Wolf with beautiful eyes,
Fyodor and Fanny carve our secret names
on tombstones lined along Highway to Hell
to earn through interior monologue
blessed assurance of life after death.

While wearing costumes of the famous dead
to lead lost children to the Promised Land,
Fyodor and Fanny realign the Earth
to match the ninth dimension of her brain
while dancing with the Joker in his lair,
aware that we are figments of his dream.

Still unremembered by the sacred house
where faces of the dead are photographs,
Fyodor and Fanny bake chocolate cake
to feed five thousand pilgrims by the lake
who wait for second coming of the White Whale
since absence arouses the evil clown.

Though infinity seeps into her hair,
and dynamite forms how his brain perceives,
Fyodor and Fanny sing hymn of true love
about how everything in life is fake
for those who spit at their hearts with contempt
realize they are amused by games of power.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus offers wine to Fanny Howe in cathedral ruins on the hill of laughing skulls, so she grins as they drink and talk about the weather.

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

My Consciousness Is God
© Surazeus
2025 07 08

Though my childhood faith is the fairy tale
that deludes billions of people with lies,
I throw it in mud of the river shore
where it sprouts tall into the Tree of Knowledge
from which I eat the fruit of ancient wisdom
which poisons fools but strengthens me with truth.

Ice skating on vast mirror of the mind
in final journey of the curious fool,
he glides with grace of curiosity
to catch the rainbow writhing in the sky
with serpentine subtleness of surprise
that discounts charges of false modesty.

Death is the greatest adventure of all
so I walk silent in the falling snow
to count the footprints of demons and ghosts
till I realize with unironic smirk
they are mine I leave in labored largesse
to marshal module of the metaverse.

With long-expired passport of my bruised heart
I wield rudimentary ability
to guard gas station of the wilderness
constrained by subtle strangeness of regret
till I can prove my consciousness is God
invented by the blind frog in the swamp.

Disheveled angelically cute at dawn,
she grins at me from tangled mane of hair
despite forlorn state of her ocean mind
while tossing petals on her empty grave
to caress marble urn of wilted roses,
fidgety with angst of global success.

Though beautiful dust of my rotting corpse
comprises fertile soil of farming fields,
I testily remark on how great heroes
cling to their pride with terrified despair
till atheist scorpion of the lake returns
to preach with passion about suicide.

Domestic certitude of sewing machines
considers pleasure of daily routines
in harmony with cicadas at sunset
revealing demons hiding in the well
reborn as children who play hide and seek
while quoting magic spells of the mind freak.

Orphaned before the falling of the wall,
she asks for payment in credit or cash
based on poised preview of physical prayer
by joining franchise of the holy clown
at sudden exposition of her fortune
when she eats gourmet food in the glass house.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus tries to break out of the conceptual rut to transform his train into an airplane so he can find Heaven among the clouds.

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

Time Of Laughing Trees
© Surazeus
2025 07 08

Too far back in the time of laughing trees
we lose ourselves in games of hide and seek
through frantic contest for king of the hill
in which each madman grasping wand of power
declares himself the winner by default
till I arrange all their skulls on bookshelves.

More fragile than the flower of desire,
he finds his aching soul eager to die
under vibrant emptiness of the sky
while walking once again the same old route
he always takes to find the true way out
till he returns and lounges by the fire.

While writing analysis of the world,
in the late evening when wild crickets chirp,
he pauses typing without knowing why
to stare at shadow of the unknown moon
that teaches him how to endure long days,
forever trudging wrong way down the maze.

If he admires with soft ungrafted thoughts
water-wavering architecture of faith,
he might discover pebble road of truth
while wandering in the swirling mist of hope
to find he wears the wrong name in his heart
when he codes evanescent certainty.

Thus when she finds him by the ruined church,
where he clutches glistening horse-chestnuts,
she conjures bright phantasms from his eyes
that vanish when he grasps essential words
composed of slippery fish he fries to eat
while shouting in the thickened air of fate.

Pure satisfaction of elusive truth
reveals how puzzle of his cosmic brain
lacks crucial pieces of the absolute
which means more than he is willing to say
on brink of revelation in the haze,
hypnotized by illusions we create.

How deep in maze of ever-winding streets
he goes to find the garden of her heart
where ghostly renderings of bitter truth
haunt every waking hour of complex brains
about sincere mourners of the mad king
who dances naked on the storming heath.

With canny calculation of contempt
she scatters spells considered obsolete
through unpredictable progress of jokes
that drive his rattling wagon off the cliff
where certainty of faith will misdirect
intense attention of the analyst.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus calculates countless timelines that unfold as consequences from the fall of America so he can figure out how to save democracy from the oligarchs.

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

Brain Without Jingling Keys
© Surazeus
2025 07 08

Though we have lived on Earth for many years,
slow butterflies who listen to our songs
give us strange but beautiful things we need,
so we build power plants in naked woods
to calculate why some people gain fame
and others disappear without their name.

When he returns home with seventeen eyes
that see faceless ghosts no one else can see,
he stands on stage with book of withered leaves
at the general conference meeting of angels
and preaches salvation of polished mirrors
that swallow airplanes into swirling clouds.

Ten million apple trees of arrogance
grow down the middle of ten thousand roads,
because the ballerina without wings
transforms into glass television swan
so we forget the mental genocide
that happens in ever-vanishing lands.

Delirious with conceptual faith in God,
the oldest woman in the world explains
how turtles represent the human soul
with charcoal mouth that wants to kiss the sky
while outside window of the doorless house
we search for shards of our world view in grass.

Disinfected brain without jingling keys
drifts over country meadow of cracked skulls
above sun-freckled farmer of the mind
who cleans the dirty window of contempt
to fertilize the land with rancid lies
too loyal to the king who never dies.

Inside the empty framework of world truth
we play our roles in theater of fear
to worship with excessive honesty
Blind Locksmith born in lush strawberry field
despite his old man stealing eyes of cats
to prove he plays piano without skill.

Seen drifting slow along metallic paths,
made wild by pure indifference of time,
she asks the shepherd why angels must die,
but he teaches her formulas of math
for calculating effect of fake prayers
before she buys redemption from the skull.

Spurred elements of agonizing now
retrieve true meaning of life from weird spells
children chant inside garden walls of fear
because they must leave everything behind
when they ride the orphan train to Utah
where faith is bound in tight semantic knots.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus pays the Blind Locksmith for keys to open the gates of paradise so he can take control of the Holy Land with the plastic exploding inevitable.

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

Forever Street Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2025 07 07

My street goes on forever to the sky
past billions of doors where strangers live, each
in their own private world of secret dreams,
so I want to pause before each locked door
and paint charming portrait of their true soul
so they can hang their mask on wall of time.

If I ever get to end of my street,
dizzy on the jagged edge of the sea,
I will storm the valley of singing ghosts
when I recognize faces of the dead
who give me their secret thoughts as ripe fruit
so I can encode their tales in the stars.

Wind gathers up torn pages of my book
and scatters them along my crowded street
so people lost in maze of monstrous myths
may catch with hands of curious contempt
map of the fractured world I draw for them
to help them escape television screens.

Free from frantic silence of awkward myth,
I gather dream crystals of the god brain
which crumbles from the fractured sky of faith
so I can reassemble from weird dreams
puzzle of wisdom designed by the rain
to mirror anxiety of the moon.

With divine eyes reversed inside my head
I see essential concept of the world
in apple seed that sprouts tree of my brain
though I see death in everything alive
with glowing vibrancy of freezing gloom
that rings bell of my consciousness with hope.

Great sadness of my street that never ends
reveals memories of every animal
as flashing code of figures in the clouds
that glow with spirits of everything real
which helps me evade evil criminals
who stalk our beautiful garden of faith.

Beauty never obscures my view of death
no matter how far along I have gone
past the countless doors of my forever street
where mirrors of our pleasure-seeking minds
perceive negation of the Openness
enclosing our garden as paradise.

When memories of every wordless soul
who has ever lived on this spinning world
overwhelm my heart with sadness of love
for fleeting beauty of the souls we lose,
I pause on forever street of my heart
and wait for you to hold my hand with care.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus paints name of Ophelia on the sign that he erects to mark the forever street of his heart where he wanders forever searching for her flower garden by the river where she floats away.

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

Dig Up Statue Of Phoebus
© Surazeus
2025 07 06

Awake in waste land of prophets and fools,
who sing hallelujah to empty skies,
I climb the mountain of the burning bush
with lantern of wisdom in curious hand
to find the temple of the weeping god
who never seems to remember my name.

Honest laughter of the tear-fractured stone
echoes wildly weird in the hollow land,
so I draw map on the world in white sand
to contemplate strict rules of leadership
that greedy oligarchs never consult
while I play chess with the crocodile god.

Delicate petals of the Hawthorne tree
lure me to backyard of the crumbling church
to dig up statue of Phoebus from mud
so I can ask him for meaning of life,
but he just stares beyond eternity
to prove our souls are temporary flames.

Though I get lost in labyrinth of lies
while searching for the secret Promised Land,
I find the Tree of Knowledge by the cave
where emaciated ghosts of mining slaves
follow enchanting music of my lyre
to sit weeping under the apple tree.

The serpent eye in the mirror of truth
reflects timeless snow of forgetfulness
that shrouds broken skulls of warriors and kings
in Elysian fields where hyacinth blooms
but conceals scorpions of arrogant faith
who preach salvation of the weeping god.

Through telescope of formulated truth
I see every star in the universe
that ever swirls from energy of hope
so I can trace trajectory of fate
which prophets calculate with measured words
when mirror of our world view fragmentates.

Fired by rebirth of wonder in the world,
I walk across the waste land of the mind
with American-Eagle wings of my heart
to navigate Age of Anxiety
with lantern Diogenes gave to me,
then play God on your television screen.

Since faith imperils my intrusive heart
with cultural artifacts designed by faith,
I baptize my ghost in the River Styx
when Minerva crowns me King of Nowhere,
then we eat hamburgers in the backyard
to celebrate rise of Zarathia.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus cleans the statue of Phoebus, then places it on a pedestal in the Zarathian Museum of Tellurian Art.

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

Glow Cloud Society
© Surazeus
2025 07 06

Though he ascend to the heights of great power
on grand ziggurat of authority,
the man appointed by mandate of Heaven
to serve every person within our empire
must open his eyes to see how we live
and listen to our voices with his heart.

From where he stands so high above the world
wise leader chosen by voice of the people
should fulfill with sincerity of faith
mission of the Glow Cloud Society
to care for every person in the land
by helping them achieve dreams of their hearts.

When powerful men who control the land
conspire to exploit the people for wealth,
by blocking them from learning truth in school
to enslave them as docile laborers,
the man entrusted with wise leadership
regulates their greed with objective laws.

Each time new wise and compassionate leader
rises from among people of the land
to guide our ship of state safe beyond storms,
rich oligarchs who steal huge hoards of wealth
conspire to block progress of his programs
by framing him with smear campaign of lies.

When gang of oligarchs dethrones the leader,
driving him into the harsh wilderness
where the fallen king wanders as mad prophet,
then seizes control of state government,
the Lost Princess who embodies his mission
is guided by light of fate to return.

Though Minerva wanders in the waste land,
talking with the Snake in the Tree of Life,
she will gather lost people of the world
and assemble all homeless refugees
to lead good revolution of the brave
who drive the tyrant from the House of Power.

Bearing flag of Liberty with firm hands,
I follow Goddess of Justice with faith
to fight against oppressors in glass towers
so she can program world view of respect
that funds growth of productive businesses
so every person thrives as they create.

Guided well by Glow Cloud Society,
the honest leader chosen by the people
keys equal opportunities for all,
supporting freedom of speech with good will,
and ensures fair justice for every person
as we build Zarathia with our hearts.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus holds flag of Liberty while Minerva sits enthroned on ziggurat of justice to rule new nation of Zarathia built on the ruins of America.

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

Rainbow Ghost Of Love
© Surazeus
2025 07 05

The laughing door of the numberless house
cries out about the rainbow ghost of love
that no one sees in window of the brain
manipulating mystery of desire
through frantic beauty of weird harmony
more tender than hot tension of respect.

Through concepts that ignite my agency
so I burn bright as rainbow ghost of love
I follow Dancing Turtle down the road
to find the spot of wisdom in this world
where I can cool ambitious jets of fear
and float with beauty of the broken heart.

Relaxed in comfortable armchair at dawn,
faceless mask lit by rainbow ghost of love,
I spread aggressive raven wings of truth
and wheel high through red apocalypse sky
with fierce careening passion of respect
for every soul who suffers loneliness.

When lightning wakes in television screens
mad children from the rainbow ghost of love
I shall found my own political party
so I can name the new empire of wealth
after the oldest woman in the world
who laughs while I draw pictures on cave walls.

Because the old man who fought in the war
claims to perceive our rainbow ghost of love
spread out on eagle wings across the sky,
his daughter commits him to the asylum
where he teaches everyone how to spell
prophetic visions for the new world empire.

Wandering alone in the town garbage dump,
always searching for rainbow ghost of love,
last King of Avalon wears plastic crown
he got at Burger King when he was nine
to proclaim himself great king of the hill
where he rules nation of vultures and flies.

Dressed in white lace gown with rose in her hair,
young girl who plays the rainbow ghost of love
sings for money in the fancy nightclub
to hide her housewife heart of honest faith
in memory of the old white country church
where the pastor kissed her when she was twelve.

Still running faster than the speed of light
with mask she stole from rainbow ghost of love,
young star-eyed Sibyl chases the starship
that slips through flashing portal of lost time
till she finds me alone by lake of dreams
with daughter she bore from my broken heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus kneels before his young daughter Oster as she watches bees and butterflies gather pollen from lilies of the field.

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

People Desperate To Live
© Surazeus
2025 07 05

Hot summer sun heats the metal mailbox
with languid hope of timeless afternoons
at silent running of the forest fox
who brings secret stories from ancient moons
disguised as letters from friends far away
who write sad poems about growth and decay.

While she lounges languidly on warm grass
and dreams about strict lessons in ballet,
she feels relentless flow of the hourglass
disperse our conscious atoms till doomsday,
but she decides she will live for this hour
while watching the honeybee kiss the flower.

Their home constructed of red brick and faith
stands guard with sturdy passion of fierce hope
in tranquil neighborhood of the star wraith
defined by vision of the chronoscope
that weaves our bodies in the human tale
as fleeting flicker on the cosmic scale.

They gather in the backyard at sunset,
the parents and their children with sweet dreams,
to eat burgers and read the town gazette
recounting tragedy of social crimes
committed by people desperate to live
because they always take more than they give.

Each time I come to where two roads diverge
and pause to decide which way I should go,
I recall wisdom of the demiurge
that our spirit will continue to grow
because we are free to design our fate
based on each subsequent choice we create.

As she explains this strategy for life,
my mother gives me ripe apple to eat
since we need energy to counter strife,
thus our hearts grow stronger when we compete
for we are the same anywhere we go,
actors who play our parts in the world show.

Though the world view we all share falls apart
we focus on the basic principles
that form foundation of the social heart
which provides blueprints for communal roles
we play in world food-production machine
orchestrated by the fertile May Queen.

We gather on the shores of lakes and seas
to remember when our First Mother rose
from lake of dreams at dawn of time with keys
that open doors to temples where gods pose
as glamorous stars in the global game
over who will die with money and fame.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus brings Ophelia and Orion to the farm in Vermont to join Robert Frost and his family for the barbecue on Independence day.

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

Cardboard Boxes Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 07 04

No doubt soft laughter of the lonely child
cracks cement pylons of the highway bridge
that causes snowflakes from the godless sky
to freeze the homeless people into gods
who huddle in cardboard boxes of faith
while cars speed past to chase the rainbow hoard.

Back to hard country where old tough men cry
the shoeless child climbs salmon-crowded falls
to find the sensual music of the cave
where monuments of aging intellect
crumble into shadows of bitter faith
scattered in ruins of Byzantium.

Wielding paintbrush of capitalist contempt,
the child paints whiteness on cathedral walls
to erase gold mosaics of dead gods,
then pets the dying wolf on altar stone
that bleeds from sharp knife in his pious hand
as he recites tale of the twin wolf boys.

Though sickness of desire to rule the world
consumes his heart with anguish of despair,
the child of nowhere clutches wand of power
and shouts decree to empty hall of ghosts
to smash artifice of eternity
which suffocates beauty of truth with greed.

Sad readers of the Gotham Evening News
ride down the river on the boat of bones
with vows to suppress hearty appetites
for fraught psychosis of the fierce chess game
when the child decides not to die again
in silence of Heaven through atom bombs.

In deserted brickyard of the empire
the child clutches at curving willow branch
when rapid fluxions of yellow moonlight
shock his heart with weird beauty of the pond
consoled by monotone of sparkling rain
when ghosts of kings haunt his fake memories.

Beneath the harvest moon of flagrant faith,
where unanswerable questions bloom from mud,
the child who hides their precious memories
joins the global game for king of the hill
till fields of farmers gleam with blood of warriors
who gather on the White House lawn at dawn.

Wild children who once played in sun-dewed fields
to translate grand songs of the reckless rain
now labor empty-hearted between walls
as slaves of wealth in clanking factories
till Jesus battles Jupiter for power
to rebuild our fallen America.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus and William Butler Yeats eat sandwiches at the Toners Pub in Dublin to watch fireworks explode in the sky on codependence day.

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

Breath Of Timeless Stars
© Surazeus
2025 07 04

Where shall I put the emptiness of truth
that highlights essence of the thing itself
with subtle roundness of conceptual loss
that sparks assurance of the wondering mind
to measure multiplicity through thought
with wholeness of unthinkable respect?

Curved surfaces of felt objective things
seduce aggressive passion of my heart
to love completeness of existing forms
that pulse with psychic breath of timeless stars
encased in eyes of souls with conscious brains
who find their secret name in light of hope.

If I emerge from twisting vine of time
compact with lived experience of fear,
I might survive with bold mischievousness
that helps me reassemble from strange dreams
my broken heart with tangled roots of faith
because I love futility of light.

With obvious knowledge of my secret self,
that sprouts awake from fertile ground of being,
I bracket segments of intense events
through progress of imaginary tales
contained in space I clear with grasping hands
to build new world vision from painful respect.

Because I steal the golden key of faith
from bitter demon of the rotten tree,
who mourns the fallen angel of the moon,
I bury fear of perfect pulchritude
with sadness in the book of filthy lies
so wings may sprout from anguish of my heart.

Till seven egrets with electric wings
return from burning tower of the fool
with crown of jewels fallen from his head,
I will convene council of faceless ghosts
with mission to design our new world view
that programs role for every human being.

Because the egrets have all flown away
to mark collapse of our global empire,
I shall recalculate financial fate
to fund attention of courage reborn
for learning language of the apple tree
that tries to explain secret of rebirth.

Trapped in the haunted room of somewhere else,
the blue-eyed girl whose smile builds monuments,
describes anatomy of cosmic truth
contained in molecules of floating clouds
that sprinkle rain of life on soil of time
so we hold hands and walk along the river.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus and Ophelia walk along the river, holding hands, to join communal picnic in the city park, then after sunset watch principles of democracy explode in the sky.

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

Lost In Tapachula Streets
© Surazeus
2025 07 03

Tina lies on her back in the weed field
and stares at blankness of the empty sky.
How horrible our country has become,
greedy men stealing money from the poor
so children will starve and people will die,
all while they pray to Jesus Christ for help.

Tina walks slowly along barbed-wire fence,
boots crunching on gravel from skulls of gods.
Faint comfort it is to me that my heart
shares this horror at their fascist disgrace
with millions of people across this land
who seem powerless to stop it, like me.

Tina crosses the highway at sunset
as trucks and cars speed past with gleaming lights.
Millions of women who generate life
will no longer be able to get care
from medical clinics which operate
on government-funded programs for health.

Tina buys sprite from the vending machine
then leans against the power pole and drinks.
Millions of people who cannot work well
will go hungry because food benefits
got cut to provide tax cuts for the rich
who control the food-production machine.

Tina walks toward the school library hall
to study American history books.
Millions of children eager to learn truth
based on analysis of observed facts
will instead be programmed to believe lies
about the complex history of our land.

Tina gasps in shock when gang of masked men
with rifles drag her into the black van.
People like me who were born in this land
and possess the birth-right citizenship
though my parents came here from Mexico
will get deported to some unknown land.

Tina shivers cold in the holding cell
with hundreds of women who stare in shock.
The great American experiment,
that insured justice and freedom for all
who work hard and follow the social rules,
has disappeared into state tyranny.

Tina steps off the giant screaming plane
and wanders lost in Tapachula streets.
My parents worked hard to start their new life
so though I lost everything they had gained
I will start my new life in this strange land
with souls of my ancestors in my heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus helps Miguel search everywhere for his wife who had gone to the library to study for her history test, till he receives a call from her lost in Tapachula streets.

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

Walls Of Our Sacrifice
© Surazeus
2025 07 03

Look in my heart and you will find the road
that leads to garden we build with our hands
where children of our devotion play free,
safe inside strong walls of our sacrifice,
till gangs of thugs bearing rifles of fear
storm our paradise to control our dreams.

Water flows as rivers in winding curves
down mountains, across plains, and out to sea,
so I follow the birds soaring on wind
where people gathered in towns on the shore
share feast from harvest of their daily work
and sing the stories of their bitter lives.

Though we may settle on the river shore
to build houses with gardens by the road,
we only stay to raise our children well
for several generations of new souls
till we continue down the signless road
for we are nomads that flow with the rivers.

Our journey ever onward toward the sun
is sacred way of living we observe,
forever walking with joy and despair
to find our Promised Land beyond the hills
that shimmers as illusion of world peace
which always vanishes as we approach.

True destination of our chosen fate
gleams ever distantly in half-seen dreams
so we bring light into the grotto cave
to bake bread with gold barley of the field,
then paint the story of our endless quest
with blood of the lamb on the gemless wall.

We carve from stone of possibility
idols of our heroes with dream-bright eyes
who lead us through the waste land of despair,
but we pass on down winding roads of hope
and leave their statues in the cave of faith
with our broken hearts beating in their hands.

On journey of our feet to find our home
we stumble in secret valley of truth
where horses graze among apricot trees,
so after we dwell there ten thousand years
we leave that hidden paradise behind,
yet keep its true name secret from rich men.

When you arrive at my home on the river
you will see that I have stood on this spot
one hundred million years of flowing time
with my heart blooming under the vast sky,
for I am dazed by beauty of this world
that returns after wars destroy our homes.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus journeys from Gui Lin to Oregon over 80,000 years to give me magic lyre of Mercury so I can keep on singing the epic of humanity.

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