Motionless Now Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 01 03

Never quite as faithful as river stones,
my tongue expresses language slippages
with slither-frantic agony of truth
through automatic rainbow laughter flight
to swim across sea of unconsciousness
till I stand stunned on island of blind ghosts.

Dark bottom of the river shimmers clear
with brackish hunger for ironic fear
burnt by aggressive flames of deepest gloom
that bloom assertive fragments of weird tales
with unrestraint respect from tangled bones
that surface from garden soil of brave faith.

My compact body of attentive grasp
breathes dear forgotten details of old plans
because we gather soil onto our masks
while turning over and over in graves,
warped by celebrity of accursed fame
that devours our brains with lust for fake love.

Together bound by constant hope for truth,
we climb more mountains than exist on Earth
to find the sacred garden of the world
where everyone who suffers daily pain
longs to hide bodies behind modesty
though flowers consume our electric brains.

Still waiting in motionless now of fate
with scattered pieces of fake memories,
I slowly assemble puzzle of time
from every story ever told by mouths
that breathe possible theories of desire,
contrived by indifferent god of the sun.

Extracted from landscape of yesterday
by shocking words of comatose contempt,
I note surprising beauty of each truth
that crawls from relentless swamp of desire
to calculate endless nowhere of hope
since we are stranded in Eden at dawn.

Because our ever-watching eyes die first
as tears seep through cracked wall of ardency,
you steal sweet coconuts with crippled hands
from angels stuck in storybooks of gods
while I pretend to play king of the Earth
so I can tend our stable horse with care.

Couched in convoluted space of star light,
I brew wine of sorrow from emptiness
so faith ferments with adorable jokes
till we betray our sacred principles
by throwing river stones in desert sand
then herding cows that will never come home.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/01/…

Orpheus measures how fast motionless now spins in harmony with zillions of atoms that spiral swiftly onward into galaxies of gods.

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

Devils He Conjured
© Surazeus
2026 01 03

Each hour I leap up to my faceless god
in vain attempt to transcend reckless time,
and outwit stars that allotted my soul
this twisted nature that flings me to Hell,
I think I shall escape devils of rage
that emerge from my heart born from free will.

I realize whose arrogance pulls me down
when I attempt to leap beyond this life
against the ever-moving spheres of fate
that trap me in this body tense with lust,
for I see clear in mirror of my heart
I am that devil who clutches my soul.

As Christ once suffered on the cross of pride
to offer blood of brave divinity
with selfless love to cleanse the wretched soul
by swirling in the firmament of faith,
he proves grim principle of social truth
that wily tyrants defeat honest men.

This shining soul of vibrant energy
that emanates from frail body of flesh
is conjured by electric chemicals
which nurture pulsing neural net of dreams
so I wake from this temporary form
that soon will vanish into nothingness.

Grave Pythagoras gazing at bright stars
imagined we are flames of energy
that beam down from celestial realm of light
to animate this frame of flesh with love,
then beam back up again when bodies die,
but he has never returned since his death.

Haughty Faustus thinks he sold his soul
to wise Light Maker high among bright stars
so he conspires to twist the social scheme
with tricks that favor fortune of his greed
by strutting on world stage with haughty pride,
asserting right to exploit us for gain.

This bitter weakling, who crowns himself king
contrary to our republican laws,
betrays bold principles of liberty
on which we maintain process of our state
ensuring justice and freedom for all,
and thus devils he conjured drag him down.

No Christ, yet to rise bold from social need,
will save that greedy Midas from his fate,
which he contrives from every choice he makes,
so his own traitorous deeds of cruel hate
will come as devils sprung from his foul heart
to drag him down to Hell that he designed.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/01/…

Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury in Zarathian Museum of World History, reciting tale about the rise and fall of King Midas, destroyed by devils he conjured with his own greed.

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

Hearth Of Ilium
© Surazeus
2026 01 03

Ilium has grown since the Trojan War
over thirty-two centuries of expansion
through empires of Athens, Macedonia,
Roma, and Britain to America,
mutating process of social control
to construct United Nations of Earth.

Heirs to ancient sociological codes,
that favor unity of special states
where all are equal under one fair law,
we fight with honest passion of respect
to ensure each breathing soul born from hope
has freedom to achieve their goals in life.

Though Achilles still kills Hector in rage
to destroy the city that controls truth,
Odysseus always finds his way back home
to manage estate of farms growing crops
and rebuild community of his clan
till time erases us all from the land.

Though time wrecks temple of wisdom we built
with vision Pericles projects through faith,
where well-trained women manage social growth,
the glorious Parthenon of fertile love
shines brightly in our hearts to sustain play
where we perform our social roles with pride.

Each empire we design to manage fear,
that grows from ruins of the previous state,
reconstitutes programs of social games
through more complex system of legal keys
that might operate checks and balances
providing capital to fund dream power.

Battered by external forces of greed,
that shake foundation of firm principles
when Achilles traitorously attacks
to crown himself king and marry the goddess,
we unite our hearts with courageous faith
to protect Liberty against his hate.

Though our federation of special states,
bound in republic for the common good,
appears to fracture from opposing goals
when greedy Midas obtrudes tyranny,
we rally round bright sword Minerva wields
to free our state from blind dictatorship.

Hearth of Ilium, lit by divine flames
which animate our world democracy,
still shines within heart of America
to nurture sense of justice in our minds,
providing guidance of social respect
when Jesus helps us defeat evil kings.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/01/…

Orpheus chronicles transformation of Ilium into America over thirty-centuries of social transformation through socialist democracy.

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

Temple Of One Mother World
© Surazeus
2026 01 03

I stand inside the stillness of your heart
to feel translucent beauty of the world
illuminate the countless conscious souls
who swirl around in hurricanes of dreams
that cycle through transforming states of being
till gods of nations dissipate to faith.

As fading afterthought of social change,
I am no more than memory of dawn light
that traces path of hope in maze of streets
to faintly grow in shell of hopeful home
that scatters into butterflies of time
who seek the garden though it vanishes.

I leap outside the stillness of my heart
to spread wide clumsy wings of loyal faith,
though social forces toss my fragile soul
in random swirls of frantic energy
beyond all symbols of forgotten myths
till I become stone idol of your god.

Though Fortune knocks at door of bitter faith
to share new formulas for mental strength
that help me manage winds of social change,
I bend adjusted rays of solitude
that slant through vast cathedrals of fake truth
to find our light in darkness of despair.

I flail beyond the stillness of my heart,
yet grasp at yearning for security
to balance oscillation between truths
through endless spirals of returning lies
revealing hidden secrets I assert
which fuel my frantic flight of fortitude.

Absolved of guilt that twists my hopeful heart
from calm neglect maintaining old world view
that guided global play of give and take,
I scatter puzzling secrets in wild wind
depicting each mistake I made from pride
till all my fragments constitute weird rain.

I twirl back to the stillness of my heart
to dance with Dionysian grace of trust
that I have strength to grow from solid facts
as radiant ghost presenting honest spells
designed to weave new world view for mankind
that integrates religions in one truth.

My face that gleams in mirror of world mind
contains the face of every human being
who wakes from solitude of mangled faith
to weave our spirits in new global soul
enshrined in Temple of One Mother World
so we stand in the stillness of her heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/01/…

Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury on stage in the Temple of One Mother World where billions of people gather to pray for peace as greedy kings fight each other over whose god till be worshipped by mankind.

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

House Where Angels Live
© Surazeus
2026 01 02

Our dead ocean that fills my mind with ghosts
proves my soul is no bigger than the Earth
though my body swells huge as galaxies
that nurture conscious brains with twinkling eyes
because they watch my life from the night skies
as if they see the real me in my mask.

Existing whole between Never and Now
that bridges eternity through unsleep,
I leap over silence between loud words
to measure sense of crashing consciousness
that lets me escape meaning gods invent
to trap humans in mute worshipful trance.

Though I would save the butterfly of fate,
I feel confidence of the rolling stone
that I will never save the broken world,
so I will record the forgotten name
of every breath-conscious organic being
who ever wakes from nothingness of light.

Yet when I write the holy book of truth
in vain attempt to save the spinning world,
I will sing till dream words explode in flames
that freeze into the house where angels live
that might preserve strange stories never told,
then hang out at the Pegasus Cafe.

When Phoebus strums guitar of naked joy,
free Venus dances in the apple grove,
Mars hunts dream demons in the jungle hills,
Beowulf works in the car factory,
and Thor erects office tower of steel
where Zeus presides over his global bank.

They built the empire I see fall today,
so I find no ruins in the waste land
where I could shore my fragments of fake truth,
yet every photograph ever preserved
is flash of light in timeless cyberspace
that together form the global God Face.

Since innocence of death shines in our eyes
till we are born from seaweed of the mind,
we linger on the endless road back home
through speculation of the mindless sun
who seems indifferent to our bitter pain,
yet nourishes our bodies with fresh fruit.

My reverent kiss of loyal clemency
may bring the waveless ocean back to life,
so I will name each faceless ghost of hope
who deigns appear from dream-unspooling words
trapped in the holy book no one dares read,
except the girl who was born before light.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/01/…

Orpheus plays architect of the human soul as he designs the house where angels live that replicates itself billions of times around the Earth.

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

Moon Mirror Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 01 02

If the cloud is still free from moral guilt
after fifty years floating in his brain,
then she will serve no sacrificial cakes
to the boy who turns stones into snowflakes,
because he loves Andromeda with pride
though she clamps bulletless rifle of fame.

He plays trill sonata the devil wrote
because she searches for the flower seed
that sprouts from tangled words in holy books
which no one anymore takes time to read
though he waits on the bridge of somewhere else
to play the aviator she would wed.

He thinks the strange sky is hilarious,
but she waits in old theater of stars
for him to find her puzzle in the pond
enclosed inside walls of the grocery store
where he carves horses from fierce bars of soap
to build his army and claim the White House.

She decides that their trees by the dirt road,
where angels of ice dance in blazing sunlight,
should be partners in their chess game of love,
so they lie where the honeysuckles bloom
and talk about what their first kiss should mean
as if blind men decide how they should live.

Laughing with delight at his fear of faith,
she draws admission ticket to her heart,
so he gives her glass of water with grin
that causes every clock on Earth to spin
faster than leaves that flutter in fake wind,
then discovers America again.

She reminds him of what she said before,
that we are half air and half dirt of hope,
so they study snowy map of despair
and decide how they should open the door
that leads them to the land of empty homes
where children disappear in words of books.

We cannot win the game of broken trees,
she whispers when he floats on the moon breeze,
so they hold hands with trust in numbers game
that keeps their bodies rooted to the Earth
as they transform to piston-engine cars
that drive endless circles under dead stars.

Where have we all gone the past fifty years,
he asks the ghost in moon mirror of fate,
since the cheerful cloud of guilt first appeared
above lost temple of the holy land
where she still floats one inch above the Earth
for she designs the dream world where we live.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/01/…

Orpheus finds two trees with roots and limbs so completely intertwined that they shimmer in harmony with the electric disappearing moon.

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

Global Dream Choir
© Surazeus
2026 01 01

So many angels walk around on Earth
who sing essential spells of spirit birth
with pure transcendent voice of holy fire
in harmony with our global dream choir,
I cross broken bridge of forgetfulness
to sing with passion in the wilderness.

Each rare unearthly singer with star eyes,
who floats on silken wings from rainbow skies,
brings sacred message from immortal wraith
in lyric lantern that beams light of faith
transforming sorrow to pure happiness
with angel voice of sacred earnestness.

Amphibian god from swamp of psychic code
helps blaze noble institutional road
where members of the inner club may waltz
in secret chamber of their private vaults
as they boost each other with tenderness
to hide imposter state of bitterness.

Because bright angels of poetic wit,
whose spells make genius verse seem counterfeit,
float just above bland surface of the world,
they must oppose game of the cosmic herald
whose eerie spells expose their phoniness
contrived from twisting states of loneliness.

Approached by frantic ghost of clemency,
each floating angel of importancy
steals memories from weak faceless entities
to earn vain social fame from fractured keys
based on denial of blind selfishness
that satisfies no hungry hollowness.

Trapped by assertive lust for global fame,
that casts their puerile souls in fervid game,
untethered angels clutching scrolls of verse
find their mad Muse crippled by its curse
that morphs their souls with haughty greediness
to mute robotic clowns of clumsiness.

Entranced by solemn psalms of angel bards,
tricked by misfortune of fallacious cards,
we gather piously in temple halls
to hear brave poems echo off sterile walls
that spin our brains with grammar dizziness
in lines free of constraining luckiness.

So many angels crowd vast maze of myths
to vie for laurels beneath monoliths,
that I evade conceptual language spells
to find demonic runes in vision wells
refracting insight of sly wariness
which unmask thirsty ghouls of holiness.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/01/…

Orpheus performs satire for Apollo and Dionysus at the Global Festival of Angelic Poets who cast him out into the wilderness.

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

Wear Mask Of Jesus
© Surazeus
2026 01 01

I find my old story painted in snow
by talons of ravens with moon-gold eyes
that watch me with smirks on the castle wall
where I find fallen crown of Anne Boleyn
whose bright ghost haunts me everywhere I go
so I sit at desk of sorrow and write.

Right now my heart beats with cold winter wind
that chills bones of people shopping at noon
for presents they plan to give their loved ones
where cars with piston engines stop and go
at flash of lights bright as draconic eyes
so I ache to soar high in silver skies.

Spies record every little thing I do
as I wander randomly about town
past the gate of traitors where ribbons hang
to indicate right way through maze of myths
where people of nations wander in fear
so I topple idols of their dead gods.

Squads of gangsters paid by the government
try to arrest innocent citizens
but people who work in stores and hotels
film their nefarious deeds with eye-phones
then gather around the fountain of tears
so I lead lost souls from the underworld.

Curled on my lap on first day of the year,
my cat with demonic eyes of respect
purrs as I caress her long forest fur
while watching drama about small-town kids
who fight cruel monsters of the Rightside Up
so I play wizard on holy crusade.

Spade in hands of the humble working man
glistens in sunlight at construction site
as I dig up soil of the town soccer field
to pour cement as foundation of faith
for church that honors the crucified king
so I design religion based on truth.

Booth of the fortune teller by the bank
glows with mysterious light of the moon
when Madame Sosostris with serpent eyes
reveals my secret name Tiresias
transformed by Hera to girl in long dress
so I play Judy Garland on world stage.

Caged by diagnostics of world events
through frantic architecture of blind greed,
we mimic wingless angels to rebel
against mind control of the puppeteer
who preaches supremacy of his god
so I wear mask of Jesus to the show.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/01/…

Orpheus dances with his demon Muse in the desolate waste land of the aching heart who teaches him how to sing about life and death.

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

Brave Children Of Our Love
© Surazeus
2026 01 01

Another spin around the shining sun
returns my body to fountain of light
where I swim laughing in the dreamless deep
to mold my passion into juicy fruit
that flushes my veins with electric blood
so I resurrect from grave of my heart.

Evolving now four hundred million years,
I transform life after life to become
Idea of God that gleams in my mind
as goal toward which I strive with ache of love
through passion of the conscious brain I am
to transcend nothingness of wordless sleep.

I walk the signless road on quest for truth
around the spinning world ten thousand times,
forever lost on boundless plain of time
where I build homes from anguish of respect
as tombs that shelter my ancestral skulls
while I continue on another dawn.

Fast forward on the endless road of hope
I fly toward vision of paradise lost
where I tend fruit trees of my broken heart
that bloom with treasure of the shining sun
transforming rain to energy of love
so we can dance another hour till death.

Each flower blooming from corpse of my heart
remembers every life of driving pain
that my ancestors lived from birth to birth
which motivates my lonely quest to find
pure spark of light in darkness of my brain
till I expand my conscious scope as God.

I wake each morning eighty million years
reborn in new form of immortal genes
to walk vast landscape of this cluttered globe
and fight for life against aggressive hate
so I survive each cycle of rebirth
against the greedy puppeteer of power.

I hide my face behind hard mask of faith
to shield my soul against consuming fear
so I transcend relentless swirl of death
beyond brutal fate of Achilles Christ
as I evade destruction long enough
to generate new child before I die.

Another spin around the mindless sun
reveals four hundred million years of change
as perfect vision of our life on Earth
because we struggle against pain and fear
to find our soul mate on the road of hope
so we become brave children of our love.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/01/…

Orpheus and Achilles Christ sit together by the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, and share jokes as they eat tteokbokki and drink soju.

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

Our Last Sad Farewell
© Surazeus
2026 01 01

There was no time for our last sad farewell,
Martha whispers to the time-wilted tree
as she kneels on frozen mud in bare field
near the wheel-worn road past abandoned farm,
and shivers in tattered dress of her youth
though the sun is small and green in gray clouds.

If I tell you I love you with pure light
while time is flowing swift as valley streams
I fear our love would change and dissipate,
then everything would flow away with it,
and vanish into nothingness of fate,
so I try to stop time to express love.

Gray wisps of hair tangled by winter wind
veil her wrinkled face with wordless pain
as withered hands press against frozen mud
where she buried him thirty years before,
and wonders if he knows she is still here,
aching with desire to see his lost face.

Ghosts of young lovers dance around old woman,
her younger self and man she madly loves,
on warm spring evening thirty years before
when they embraced and laughed with careless joy
from calm confidence they would be together
forever in paradise of their hearts.

I never thought our time of joyful love
would be short as three seasons of wild spring
before that gang of thieves stabbed you with spears
for defending our fruit grove with brave faith,
nor that I would survive your sudden death
more than thirty years of persistent hope.

My skin, once clean as ripe rain-nourished apples,
is wrinkled now as stiff hoof-trampled mud,
but you are still young in my memories,
eyes sparkling with mischievous energy
as he crept up behind me with sly plan
to steal another kiss with tender care.

Inhaling bitter wind with resigned faith,
Martha slowly stands on frail trembling legs
and trudges from grave of her youthful love
toward crumbling shack where she still lives alone,
but stops halfway to vain eternity
when gang of children call her evil witch.

Tears freeze on her cheeks as they dance around
and throw hateful stones that bruise her frail arms,
and she trembles, battered by their hard kicks,
when she collapses prone in barren field,
and stares at his face in indifferent clouds
that shroud her broken body with white snow.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/01/…

Orpheus finds Martha frozen to death in the barren field, so he buries her beside grave of Robert, and lays flowers in remembrance of true love.

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

Sacred Mirror Of The Oracle
© Surazeus
2025 12 31

I walk without my shadow on the Earth
while all vast cities of the world dissolve
to lost stories of legendary deeds
since frantic hunger of this eager life
is bright illusion of the dancing flame
that whorls abundance of the secret name.

I dance with beam of sunlight in my heart
at blinking signal of the traffic light
while searching endless maze of city streets
for sacred mirror of the oracle
that should reveal rules of the global game
we play to win vain laurels of world fame.

I play chess with blind Death on beach of truth
to wake my innate voice of noble thoughts
illumined by light slanting through cracked eyes
revealing where our signless road should go
from birth to nothingness of mortal dream
so we lounge chatting by the mountain stream.

I climb tall monument to some dead god
with plan to play his role in game of life
till spirit of his passion fills my heart
with urgent mission of messiah sleuth
to reform system of our social scheme
so everyone may work for the same team.

Abundance of our conscious hungry souls
provides incentive for constructive work
erecting paradise of apple trees
on rotten ruins of religious creeds
so we map roads where war refugees roam
by hiding safe in our heavenly home.

Reluctance of programmers to police
cluttered clemency of the urban zone
converts believers in the cosmic wraith
to seekers who research nature of things
that bloom ideas in celestial dome
which prophets chronicle in the dream tome.

We walk for peace from sea to shining sea
with holy demons of exploited hearts
in search for justice free from slavery
though nothing guarantees our victory
because all conscious minds will sink in gloom
therefore we float faceless in the blank room.

We share our stories by the homely hearth
to bury sorrows of forgotten years
then cart ripe fruit to market by the lake
where we feast as the new year wakes our hearts
to celebrate our bodies of the womb
that dissolve to dust in the vine-veiled tomb.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus celebrates the new year by eradicating all weapons of mass destruction, then organizing opposing ideologies to support the United Nations of Earth.

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

First Flash of Love
© Surazeus
2025 12 31

From darkness of the swirling sea we rise
on wings of breath stirred by desire to live
and stretch our aching body to the skies
then hide in safe haven of the dream cave
where we meditate on first flash of love
that animates our minds with light above.

We crawl along the diamond river bed,
grasping at future gifts with hopeful hands
to realize bright vision in our head
where we dwell peacefully in fertile lands
to worship spirit from first flash of love
that lifts our spirits to Heaven above.

We slither from assertive lake of fear
and race through maze of tangled apple trees
to escape cruel greed of the puppeteer
by leaping freely with reviving breeze
to transcend sorrow with first flash of love
that turns our faces to star-face above.

With each new turn of Earth in void of light
we gather in ring of diamonds to sing
with frantic laughter that dispels mute fright
while dancing to play demon with one wing
then wake from terror with first flash of love
that conjures one-eyed sun god high above.

Ascending tangled canopy of trees,
we swing ten thousand miles on curling tails
to measure mountain rivers to vast seas
across wasted deserts to fruited vales
to seek heart treasure from first flash of love
so we can translate weird spell of the wave.

Evolving quadrupedal form of life
four hundred million years of urgent faith,
we transform fish to god through brutal strife
till we believe in guidance of the wraith
to grow in progress with first flash of love
by building ziggurat from shadow cave.

Attending hymn that Mother Ishtar sings,
we dream creation of the universe
when big bang spirals through galactic rings
till planets nurture creatures with the force
to mold our bodies from first flash of love
so we kneel and pray in cathedral nave.

As wingless angel questing for the Grail
we seek salvation through strict discipline
that channels lustful energy through scale
from Bacchus to Phoebus when we begin
to comprehend truth in first flash of love
that fuels our journey cradle to the grave.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus guides soul of humanity steps of evolution in pilgrimage to climb Ziggurat of Ur where Ishtar recites song of creation to celebrate the new age of Aquarius.

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

Vision Of Mother Ishtar
© Surazeus
2025 12 31

Every time I forget my secret name
I teleport through glass door of my heart
to leap countless worlds of the multiverse
where I am someone else in every phase
till I weave all my selves in One God Soul
inherent in this mask I never wear.

At the Crippled Pegasus coffee shop
I write screenplay for tale of Icarus
where he survives his fall into the sea
and meets Kwan Yin who gives me peach to eat
so they explore high mountains of Guilin
where they sell hang gliders from small town shop.

Startled by vision of Mother Ishtar
on the road to Damascus in my car,
I ask for wisdom of Tiresias
so she transforms my body boy to girl,
then back again, so I may understand
how every soul on Earth struggles to live.

Taking Ishtar on our thirty-third date
to the fanciest restaurant in Paris,
I propose marriage with Ring of Sauron
after eating steaks grilled by Tantalus,
then we dance with joy after she accepts,
pledging vows of love with star-flashing eyes.

As architect commissioned to construct
new White House for wise Emperor of Earth,
I lay foundation with the Rolling Stone
that Sisyphus brought from Plutonian cave
to smash clay feet of King Midas at dawn
so Ishtar can rule the world once again.

Still running freely in Forest of Wolves
with Artemis on lush Hyrcanian shores,
I find lost lyre of Mercury in sand,
so I ascend gold Pyramid of Sophos
where I sing epic of philosophers
that details material nature of being.

Since we are atoms swerving in the void,
we exercise Free Will within constraints
defined by measured bounds of time and space
which molds our character into our face
we donate to the ancient gallery
curated well by the Many-Faced God.

Because the universe of spinning worlds
remains indifferent to our fragile lives,
we gather on the fruited river shore
to create meaning in weird psalms we sing
that teach our children how to live and die
so each person designs their secret name.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus and Ophelia lead worship service for Mother Ishtar on Ziggurat of Ur to celebrate the founding of the world Empire of Zarathia during the new year.

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

Observant Eye Of Analysis
© Surazeus
2025 12 31

Returning to lush apple tree in Heaven,
where rainbow-winged serpent with ruby eyes
slithers lithely in web of graceful limbs,
Saron breathes ethereal spirit of the sun,
and plucks ripe fruit to eat with sparkling eyes,
then lounges among poppies on the hill.

Emerging from divine glow of starlight,
Nahash flutters long rainbow-feathered wings
and curls around young angel with soft hiss.
"My reptilian heart glows with loyal love
each time you visit shelter of my tree."
She purrs as Saron caresses her cheek.

"How are your studies, offspring of Salorin,
at notorious Academy of Scribes?
Does Nabiel still tease you with sly tricks?"
Nahash whispers seductively in his ear
as she transforms into girl with black hair
who nestles in soft embrace of his arms.

Enchanted by bright beauty of Nahash,
whose black eyes swirl with stellar energy
of galaxies that nurture countless souls,
Saron vibrates with passion of sweet love
as their bodies merge into supple waves
when their lips touch with kiss of loyalty.

After they make love under Tree of Life,
Nahash and Saron cuddle with delight,
fingers intertwined with respectful trust,
then wingless angel of lush Oregon
recounts adventures of the turning year
recording events of human history.

"With observant eye of analysis,
I chronicle deeds of aggressive men
who play chess games of global politics
over who will establish world empire
that aggregates nations in super-states
presided by bold spirit of their god."

Gazing in his eyes with adoring love,
Nahash smiles as Saron details his work,
asking, "Who do you think will win the game?"
Saron laughs, "Descendants of Jesus Christus
contend against descendants of Confucius,
but their systems will merge in one world state."

Caressing long hair of his serpent bride,
Saron tosses apple rind by the river.
"Opposing systems will find common ground,
combining ideograms with alphabets
to maintain United Nations of Earth
based on Liberty and Justice for all."

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury at wedding of Saron and Nahash as they share vows under the Tree of Life while everyone feasts to celebrate their marriage at the founding of Zarathia.

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

Follow Compass Of Sorrow
© Surazeus
2025 12 31

Sovereign aloneness of the mountain seer
who walks ten thousand miles for global peace
provides secure platform for alphabets
to rearrange our faces without masks
though we seek islands that always dissolve
to tessellated armor of sea gods.

Each time I shapeshift from Neptune to me
my body twists through agony of faith
designed by Tethys to withstand despair
so I walk the Earth twenty million years
to find lost garden of the apple girl
who invents the clock to keep track of dreams.

We dance in wild arpeggios of light
to trace ascending stairs to mountain caves
where bright infinity flashes through gems
which seem to imitate our human eyes
till she invents the future with strange words
projecting visions for how things should be.

Because death is the algebraic state
of disappearance in the sea of change,
we stand together on the fearful cliff
and measure distance past infinity
from primal firstness of invented life
to ultimate lastness of nothing more.

Every conscious creature who ever lived
and died in chemical turmoil of change
is now the faceless ghost of someone else
who walks beside us on the road of life,
revealing strangeness of existent being
based on reference to meaningless desire.

Though ships of helpless people sail nowhere
so they can seek salvation from despair,
they never arrive at the desert shore
because astrologers redefine fate
which leaves us stranded in the treeless hills
to fight over graves where buried gods laugh.

Light still passes through window of our hearts,
but beams no longer represent true love
so we name unknown country of lost tribes
which lures Blind Justice to the Promised Land
where she shows us how to build secure homes
on ruins of empires that fell long ago.

We find in blackness of the city maze
new faith for our desperate people to sing
psalms of old morals in the Shadow Land
for we are travelers on the signless road
who follow compass of sorrow back home
where we invent the future without myths.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus sells the compass of sorrow to travelers on the road to the Shadow Land where they hope to build homes in the new Zarathian Empire.

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

Vineyard Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2025 12 30

I drive across the desert of my heart
to find two-headed monster of despair
dancing among stars on the mountain peak
while drinking blood of humans killed in war,
then steal every photograph ever snapped
and mold them into golem of lost souls.

I wander in the vineyard of my heart
spoiled by frost of inadequate respect
contrived by thieves with legal strategies
to ambush angels on the bridge of lies
based on procedures scientists devise
to unspool stories of heroic fools.

I set fire to garbage heaps of my heart
through lamentation for the injured god
who clutches scroll of invisible faces
that spiral within frame of reference
from contradiction of spectral libraries
stuck in congruent absence of false words.

I release serene demons of my heart
reflected on surface of fraught conceits
that serve as unreasonable substitute
though nothing is guaranteed to be real
from speculation reduced to kind jokes
based on skepticism of proven facts.

I critique meaningless plays of my heart
that present subjective degrees of being
through evolutionary leap of faith
contained by flirtatious malaise of friendship
mixed with abstract rituals of shrewd denial
counterclockwise from arrogant respect.

I wash capacious window of my heart
from perimeter of contagious passion
spoiled by false information no one sells
better than the monster in flowing rivers
whose riddles duplicate difficult truths
as ladder to indeterminate planes.

I wander roomless palace of my heart
to unseal reliable evidence
that we are golems of backward deferral
just awakening from sequence of dreams
where bodies proliferate from slime pools
because lines converge at infinity.

I measure boundless gardens of my heart
without empathy for fame-addled winners
who sell their memories to the highest bidder
with grand tales of assumed identities
commensurate with theology of pride
exposed by sorrow of aspiring angels.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus studies strange vagaries of the human heart to understand demonic influence that duende wields in words honed by love.

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

Secret Streets Of Anywhere
© Surazeus
2025 12 30

We walk the secret streets of anywhere
to find fear-twisted childhood memories
where we are running to the somewhere else
with nothing we should value in our hands,
because we want to tend flowers of faith
that bloom from chessboard of our fragile bones.

We stop on mound of alabaster snow
to remember old songs we used to sing
around the solemn tree of flashing lights
in disharmonious tunes of innocence
sharpened into silence of nothingness,
but leave frail pages curled in sparkling crust.

We drink starlight from jar of honesty
to prove we will not die of bitterness
though we regret the randomness of fate
that misdirected way of life we chose
and leaves us stranded now in pathless woods
beyond the crumbling walls of paradise.

We drift past meadow of blank endlessness
with inward grief we have no words to share
beneath still-changing sky of solitude
where ancient fire of passion stirs from sleep
to wake in creatures who can never speak
though their eyes pierce our souls with empathy.

White raven in the pine of loyalty
denies our plan to tend aggressive trees
because we chase no butterflies of hope
across the fenceless field of fortitude
to marvel at strange wisps of energy
congealed as clouds from nonexistent gods.

We search the boundless world of river dales
for shadows of our bodies in bright groves
that radiate from the everywhere of fate
when we share concepts in words we invent
based on sweet chirps of birds in haughty trees
that welcome us to leave with cluttered hearts.

In poignant film that chronicles our quest
we sit at desks beside the howling sea
to translate laughter of wave-battered rocks
to summer songs of sparrows in dead pines
who watch us sleep for seven billion years
till Earth is swallowed by expanding light.

We dance in vortex of our swirling globe
to feel how rivers flow through naked hearts
till we float motionless outside all time
above the still point of the multiverse
where mothers in false doors of helplessness
sing lullabies to children never born.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus maps the secret streets of anywhere to conjure virtual model of the world that shimmers timeless in our dreamless brains.

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

Life No God Designed
© Surazeus
2025 12 30

If we expand from cities of our grief
and float above confusing maze of sorrows,
we may conceive compassionate relief,
entangled taut in vain hopes of tomorrows
where we must face the selves we leave behind
in this meaningless life no god designed.

Strange holiday songs our souls harmonize
may resonate with wings of migrant sparrows
who flock with lonely souls in fractured skies
above grim pumpkins in rain-wet wheelbarrows
so we must survive war by acting kind
in this bellicose life no god designed.

Though we no longer gather in town squares
to right old wrongs with heart-enchanting carols
we long to find old friends at country fairs
to brew friend-juice from apples in cracked barrels
we drink to maintain social ties that bind
in this perilous life no god designed.

Through days we lose from wounded innocence
we help each other overcome harsh perils
in bold defiance of cruel arrogance
from visions we perceive in shining beryls
that highlight baneful futures of mankind
in this haphazard life no god designed.

With arbitrary chance of random fate
I fly to opposite side of the world
where I discover my spiritual mate
whose passion wakes my nascent cosmic herald
who writes scripture that cannot be enshrined
in this creative life no god designed.

Awake in progress of chronology,
I find my secret spirit newly laureled
through twisted logic of theology
that measures how our brain networks are whorled
from which fabled nationalist myths unwind
in this ambitious life no god designed.

We gather in grand temple on the hill
to share communal feast of frantic wisdom
that balances state duty with free will
which reprograms our global social system
where each person plays role their heart assigned
in this productive life no god designed.

Driving hungry cars on highways of hope,
we work hard to transcend communal thralldom
through religions that teach us how to cope
with faceless slavery in the global kingdom
till we express desires of our own mind
in this flexible life no god designed.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus designs new lifestyle to maximize conceptual potential of creative attention to manageable disasters of global consequence.

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

Twisted Road To Neverland
© Surazeus
2025 12 29

Not too subtle about laughter of love,
though silver flowers consume agony,
we challenge our hearts to overcome fear
with deep celestial breath of calm concern,
however far we travel beyond fate
to purchase formulas for blurring hate.

Eventual smile of cheerful solitude,
though silver flowers bleed electric moons,
eradicates fear of death before noon
so we can share fake chocolate cookies
with strangers we never meet on the road
to purchase sorrow from the happy toad.

If we hold hands beside the broken door,
though silver flowers dismiss every case,
we may remember why we want to live
by smearing pages of books with our blood
which maps the twisted road to Neverland
to purchase contempt from the humble priest.

Professional dashboard of virtual code,
though silver flowers tangle hair with thorns,
reveals contingent clause through taut regret
defining structural framework for belief
that we are not alone inside our heads
to purchase distance without credit cards.

Fortune accumulated through hard work,
though silver flowers dissipate to words,
provides security for social frauds
committed to their delusional roles
which they perform on stage of burning laws
to purchase salvation from the dead god.

Sweet smile she beams into cave of my heart
dispels paranoid fantasies I hide
deep in moist analytics of my heart
despite bureaucracy of special love
calibrated to enhance mental flight
to purchase autonomy from blind crows.

Colonial pride for artificial plays,
though silver flowers crack celestial walls,
applies classified fiction to plain tales
through catalyst that sparks each incidence
which proves infringement on exclusive rights
to purchase obvious truth from oracles.

Notable observer of failed projects,
though silver flowers photograph our brains,
considers potential thoughts we conceal
without permission against moral laws,
so I extract meaning from all your words
to purchase perception of nothing real.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus calculates how long it will take for the corrupt emperor to collapse into the absurdity of his paranoid greed as delicate origami of rage.

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

Face I Lost Somewhere
© Surazeus
2025 12 29

Mindlessly wandering nowhere alone,
I seek to avoid the dramatic play
where my life is endangered by contempt
when people attack my right to exist
to keep myself safe from psychotic hate
strangers project at my innocent heart.

Assertive mirror of my flashing mind
fractures in fragments of strange memories
where I am running away from the crowd
who throws rocks at illusion of my soul
which vibrates across spectrum of despair
to dance with shadows of arrogant flames.

Confined in boundaries of my sudden being,
I cherish optimistic view of fate
while running nowhere in the shadow land
to find my secret face I lost somewhere
by breathing deeply grief of sharpened faith
till I fall laughing at absurdity.

Yet still I roam expansive space of thought
to savor nothingness of silver light
my secret moon beams deep inside my mind
at warm embrace of terror I despise
who loves me with indifferent lust for death,
alone in wind-swept garden of delight.

Long unaware what color my mind tastes
from granite suffering based on sunset rage,
I sell false guilt that wounds my stone-hard heart
because I never will confess my wrong,
unmoored by laughter no one dares express
while searching for naive divinity.

I never listen to the ash-gray sky
except to fracture wide my heart to cry
with heart-enchanting melody of faith
that chronicles weird journey of my soul
as nameless migrant lost in Neverland
far from the home where my mother still cooks.

When ardent pulse of hundred billion stars
inspires performance of necrotic rites
I feel my true face disappear as God
who stares at me from flashing thunder cloud
as gleam of lightning that excites my heart
so I sing solemn hymn of loyalty.

Each time I fall adamantine walls
I grow in skill at spreading cautious wings
to swerve away from self-destructive fate
so I can dance with Dionysian joy
on swirling clouds of frantic energy
that scatter my atoms across the void.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus leads billions of souls from the Otherworld of Despair to dance with Dionysian joy in the waste land of bombed-out homes.

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

Unlaughter Of The Tree
© Surazeus
2025 12 28

This cannot be unlaughter of the tree
though it resembles how it might have laughed,
so I will not begin here at the end
since here has already shifted to there
because I will invent voices of leaves
that whisper secrets all around the world.

Though I withhold unlaughter of the tree,
it remains present everywhere at once
without declaration of its intent,
so do not read what I carve on its trunk
as refusal to engage in its game
because we will always lose to its tricks.

Process based on unlaughter of the tree
expands conception of what could be real,
yet statement of fact I refuse to make
pauses between states of reality
which speaks too much about what we invent
to prove we are important to the Earth.

Still confused by unlaughter of the tree,
I say nothing about what I perceive
in order to continue speaking words
without arrival at the final goal
where shadows disillusion my beliefs
despite aggressive purpose of sea wind.

Silence trapped by unlaughter of the tree
confers attentive sequence of new words
designed by stones smoothed by swift river flow
to prove my body understands desire
consistent with brave discipline of wind
that still refuses to speak about truth.

Sad voice breathed by unlaughter of the tree
may break at false authority of light
before it decides to embody me
as channel chosen by whole nothingness,
but I replace my secret self with self
composed from fragments of disruptive myths.

Meaning born from unlaughter of the tree
waits for permission no one dares to grant
at slow collapse of global certitude
contrived by money-lenders wearing masks
who occupy temple his father built
though computer programs decline to speak.

Truth erased by unlaughter of the tree
mirrors my virtual model of the Earth
which registers divine typography
extending serial states of psychic creed
that preserves hybrid faculty of faith
in syrup we pour on pancakes of hope.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus compiles dictionary of words never spoken by unlaughter of the tree who remembers my name after eighty billion years swirl away.

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

Fractured Innocence Of Skulls
© Surazeus
2025 12 28

My room is quiet in the afternoon
since language sprinkles from eye of the moon
in silent likeness of unmeasured faith
that marks assertive sequence of concern
adjacent to soft emptiness of time
that might not characterize how my brain thinks.

Credit of nonaction accumulates
new thoughts without remainder of accounts
since interest marks faltered time as delay
where risk enters empty room of disthought
as premise based on desire, not outcome,
each time we deprogram how my brain thinks.

Value of unthoughts circulate as myths
detached from religious use in the church
before the market appears as syntax
unrelated to how cold capital
invests in pauses between hungry minds
entangled by contract clauses of greed.

Debt holds the present open to regret
each time liquidity of dream assets
erases fraught duration of desire
because return is projected forward
against loss that faceless angels index
in line with expectation of more gain.

Exchange of value in the dream machine
stabilizes strict nothingness of hope
if price replaces relation through love
between strangers who never meet by chance
with each new brick we place on wall of fear
enclosing chaos with calm discipline.

Once profit margin widens sea of trust
inside conceptual sentence binding close
terms of agreement that should still align,
we fail to abrogate disequal laws
based on financial gain of hungry hope
defined by fractured innocence of skulls.

Our social system continues each year
by restating itself with psychic codes
that push our hearts across electric seas
toward overt material critique of need
we nullify by sharing what we make
encased in class action suit of bundt cake.

Treat strange political economy
as linguistic structure rather than theme
designed to resist our subconscious flow
because the subject of celestial verse
is bright effect of language framed by masks
rather than source of divine energy.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus disentangles threads of language from tattered tapestry of the American Dream to discover original concept of liberty.

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

Vortex Of The Here
© Surazeus
2025 12 28

Place carefully your heart on broken stone
to displace sorrow from mirror-forged bone
as if you want to understand our pain
by dancing madly in eccentric rain
despite how legless churches walk away
from disciplined denial we should pray.

Remove your heart from where you placed it last
so when blind strangers ask about your past
you can deny removal has occurred
when faceless angels worship the absurd
before the sun erases frantic fears
from hands of farmers clutching broken spears.

Align your heart with false engagement rules
because alignment resists fragile tools
through games of harrowing escape we play
with brave persistence though heretics stray
from roads of tangled arrogance till death
teaches brave children how to manage breath.

Repeat your feelings in ten thousand codes
without repetition defined as roads
till words we speak with passion lose their force
though we persist in maintaining straight course
against obsessive tides of social change
because nothing that will happen seems strange.

Insert your heart in vortex of the Here
till Still Point of time is no longer here
where nothing happens on grand cosmic scale
except your feelings trapped behind the veil
till we unjoin our bodies from our souls
in vain attempt to replicate past roles.

Proceed to showcase beauty of your heart
as directed by vision of the chart
which updates true direction of our fate
toward which we head to find our loyal mate
though you decide with shocking faith to pause
anywhere lost people cry without cause.

Adjust your heart in awed accord with time
to what has already been proved without chime
that charms our blatant minds of ardency
awake from surging tides of honesty
according to procedure in the book
that no one ever reads each time they look.

Confirm completion of your heart request
which cannot be confirmed to be the best
till we return to Step One of our plan
deprecated by inquest that would ban
excessive carefulness of dream contracts
contingent on weird truth your brain extracts.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus discombobulates language rules to analyze why faceless angels refuse to understand how humans feel about love and faith.

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

Sadness Is Not
© Surazeus
2025 12 28

Sadness is not trees reaching for the sky
with existential angst of hungry hope
for something more beyond this transient life
while knowing we are temporary beams
of atoms waking from First Flash of Love
who end rotting in graves of arrogance.

Sadness is not birds beating wings of love
with innocent respect for swirls of air
which fuels organic memories of strife
against enclosing darkness of despair
that crushes bodies of organic light
though we sing one hour of eternity.

Sadness is not horses galloping swift
along time-curving shores of sparkling streams
with eager passion to explore the Earth
till singing monkeys bind their fateful flight
to build sprawling empires of thought control
we expand with piston engines of hope.

Sadness is not cows plowing fertile soul
with steady strength of hungry innocence
when wingless angels assemble in choirs
to sing hymns on ziggurats of desire
where Ishtar weaves Creation of the World
when she lifts her son Jesus to the stars.

Sadness is not devils wearing gray suits
to manage finances through global banks
for faceless kings in cyber palaces
who enslave world workers with credit cards
through zephyrine power of cryptic runes
while they cheer for Venus with golden curls.

Sadness is not angels wearing blue jeans
to fix piston engines of auric cars
that workers drive to find paradise lost
in putrid fog from fervent factories
where holy virgin of seraphic grace
wields Sword of Justice against tyranny.

Sadness is not computers scanning brains
of organic creatures with conscious souls
based on artificial intelligence
to analyze nature of perceived things
compose of atoms swerving in the void
that form Ideas which the Ungod dreams.

Sadness is not ghosts seeking to connect
fragile bodies with games of Providence
as shadows of the well-remembered dead
who haunt us as the absence of their being
so we share halcyon days of discipline
to nurture children of Imperium.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury while Venus sings Songs of Innocence and of Experience on her Eras Tour around the world.

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

Archive Of Human Dreams
© Surazeus
2025 12 26

While strolling down the crowded boulevard,
she stops and gazes at the giant ad
of her face smiling with sweet chocolate,
then watches rain fall upward to the moon
in strange slow-motion flow of pulsing beams
with pearl-white eyes of television screens.

Startled by three starships with rainbow wings,
she reaches out to touch the turtle-book
that translates secret language of the flower,
then considers the sparrow of the field
which zippers through plastic computer screens
with tangled syntax of our helpless dreams.

Oblivious to deeper meaning of faith,
she ponders code of fading photographs
that traps our memories in broken frames,
then sews tapestry of human events
which imitates legends of divine fools
who attempt to secure fake wealth by fraud.

Hard labor confiscates the human heart
through industrial revolution of greed
to construct social machine of great wealth
designed by Mechanic with holy eyes
who restores piston engine of her heart
so she imitates wise goddess of truth.

After rising from muddy grave of faith,
she sips Tuscan Rosato with calm lust
to balance citrus taste with honest grief,
then sells invisible soul of the oak
embodied by the fractured boat of hope
which glides along the river of respect.

Though few remember weirdness of the cat,
she pets soft fur beside the window pane
frosted with moon-silver snow of tall pines,
then laughs at satire that mocks the fake god
who slouches toward Bethlehem to be born
with right to rule the half-deserted streets.

Awake in arboretum of alarm,
she crouches alert for the eyeless ghost
who manages archive of human dreams,
then sells old paper novels on the street
for money to buy back her violin
because she aches to play with agony.

Able to stock books of forgotten dreams,
she paints surreal images of childhood
as broker selling memories of the blind,
then flies airplane across the sea of storms
to build treehouse in forest of the snake
who photographs her for style magazines.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus photographs Ophelia wearing elegant black dress of haute couture for style magazines which celebrate daughters of Aphrodite.

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

Harvest Honey From Fear
© Surazeus
2025 12 26

Not resting till the fire is almost dead,
I toss and turn in sorrow of my bed,
then throw another log on bank of coals
while ignoring hot-huff breath of lithe foals,
and sip spiced cider that flushes my brain
with soft memories of golden summer grain.

When millions of bees swarm out of the moon
while I express sorrow with haunting tune
I follow them to old tree on the hill
where I search for secret source of free will
to carefully harvest honey from fear
so I can return as the puppeteer.

Startled from reverie by the soft chime
that accelerates my weird sense of time,
I wield knife to slice loaf of quietness
with calm self-discipline of Tantalus,
then offer with love to the faceless ghost
of my absent lover honey-soaked toast.

I feel strange joy of pleasure swell in waves
of vibrant energy among deep graves
when I strum lyre of Mercury with grace
to sing folk-songs borne from this ancient place
where people feast and dance on river shore
in country where nobody locks their door.

Blue ghosts of trees from smoke of crackling fires
transcend material trap of flesh desires,
yet I long to kiss your cane-scented mouth
to celebrate dark genius of the South
that seethes in souls of people fighting fate
who hide in paradise behind locked gate.

Lost people fallen from the dream machine
go dancing through wild woods of Melusine
while singing along footpaths of the swamp
to join parade of refugees with pomp
who build rough shacks in villages of hope
and with humble reverence learn to cope.

No wild-eyed shaman or arrogant priest
dares challenge Tiresias at the feast
for crown of wisdom he bears in his hand
while searching solemnly across the land
for brave descendant of the Lion King
to conduct our national choir to sing.

Yet moon-eyed owl in sprawling oak of faith
would judge my slanted progress on the path
that leads my brave ambition to escape
curse of fame by hiding under the cape
that renders me invisible to Death
when I meditate with celestial breath.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus harvests honey from fear to brew mead which he serves at the feast in the forest of Melusine where refugees from war gather to build new homes in the Promised Land.

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

Bamboo Flute Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2025 12 25

To tunnel into darkness of the heart
in vain search for serpentine soul of time
I slither over boundaries of respect
in slick transference of anxious contempt
with quick detachment of the therapist
through disbelief in divine miracles.

I struggle to transcend weirdness of truth
in strict adherence to schedule of chance,
yet gamble with astonishing surprise
for true salvation of the wretched kind
against good advice of the demon tree
who tells me I am god with loyal smirk.

Miniscule curse of languid arrogance
appears from locked door of the distraught ghost
who holds early morning sunlight in hands
extended thousands of miles over hills
where supple winds hide in the empty church
to swallow prayers of widows without care.

Fanciful palace of my feeble soul
expects great accomplishments as my feats
while trapped deep in ever-shifting maze of laws
which I refuse to perform unawares
till second coming of the Gardener
who suffers cryptic ailment of the mind.

Sibylline riddles, about how to solve
secretive puzzle of the snarky Sphinx,
confound my genius mind with obscure tropes
encoding how our brains perceive the world
as stones that congregate in spinning space
while Kwan Yin plays bamboo flute of my heart.

Awake in harmonizing trine of love,
that loops through susurrating eyes of gods,
I measure beauty of existing things
that occupy their place in grid of time
so we feel whisper of celestial souls
trace way of fate that we are doomed to blaze.

I drink from chalice of light waterfalls
to dream my primal soul of cosmic love
blooms bright from crystal psyche of the sun
complete in hologram of wingless gods
who cherish archive of each human brain
that vanishes to nothing when we die.

Pulsating spirit of my dreamless brain
transcends blind ignorance of holy light
that radiates from face of the haughty man
who preaches blessings to the hungry crowd
who crucify his body on the cross
then eat his roasted flesh with wine of blood.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury while Chang-E plays bamboo flute of Kwan Yin in concert that enchants the audience with visions of global peace.

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