Electric Waves Of Words
© Surazeus
2025 08 25

Sinking down into dark lake of my heart,
I spread my arms wide as demonic wings
to float in sunless abyss without breath
till I become electric waves of words
shaped by ideas that our brains design
so I can stand awake on shore of time.

While building sturdy house of scented wood
on stone foundation of arcane beliefs,
I savor pleasure of using my hands,
which modulate electric waves of words,
to transform raw material of desire
in sacred haven that shelters my soul.

Shocked by strange beauty of the midnight sun,
I wander endless maze of humming trees
in rays of sunlight slant with bright insight,
expressed clear by electric waves of words,
that gleam from sapphire gem of the sky,
primeval with detachment of the heart.

Though I seek riddles in eccentric books,
composed by faceless heretics of faith,
my lamp-bright heart guides me past paradise
once revealed by electric waves of words
since angels dwell in groves of apple trees
till they transform into swift motorcars.

With quill of curiosity I write
declaration claiming shelter from fear
that links ten thousand bridges in one road,
mapped again for electric waves of words,
down which I travel to the Promised Land
where people give each other unread books.

Heart beating calmly in chaotic times,
I run the opposite direction from death
one hundred thousand years across the land
to follow on electric waves of words
through psychic agency of broken books
into white butterfly of divine truth.

Despite how the sun transforms every night
into mothers who mimic the warm moon,
we give each other holy eyes of god
that gleam clear with electric waves of words
because this country becomes strange to us,
crowded with singing doors of Nevermore.

Detached from my body of aching flesh,
and sealed in casket of the serpent witch,
I sing my adoration of the queen,
now inspired by electric waves of words,
who gives tangerines to the hungry poor,
trapped in delirium of the helpless heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus measures electric waves of words that flood the land with visions of the new world order where the teacher of truth is revered.

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

Theology Of Global Fame
© Surazeus
2025 08 24

Refusal to accept star-tangled fate
fuels my ascendance to the gate of truth,
alone for twenty thousand years of change
while writing brain programs from clownish rules
that form theology of global fame
for people who refuse to play the game.

Exposed to bitter elements of fear,
I gather words of flowers from dark fields
with hope of unconcerned naivete
to reassemble world view we designed
from fragile tokens of assertive faith
that fools employ to prove their right to laugh.

Reluctant to remember how I die
each hour the fractured sky of gleeful glass
falls as snowflakes on the naked land,
I huddle by the ever-flowing river
to study how my stream of consciousness
nurtures trees that grow from rotten brains.

I have no innate need of being versed
in country things for houses in the wind
or stony roads that wind into sunsets,
regardless of how often we face death,
so I invite sly birds of everywhere
to fly through broken window of my heart.

I dwell long on what has been in the past
in order to see where I need to go
across the muddy field of innocence
in fruitless bid to rebuild friendly walls
where lilacs bloom around the rotten elm
now staged as home for honey bees to live.

On snowy evenings under diamond stars
I stand on back porch of suburban house
where I lived when I was sixteen years old
with book of essays Ralph Emerson wrote
to stare at ancient gleam of Mount Rainier
while waiting for my angel wings to grow.

As swinger of birches, born in the woods,
I study cobwebs dripping gold with dew
to understand perfection of the eye
that generates virtual world in my brain
where I can fly up to Heaven with wings
instead of stumbling lame on mindless earth.

Indifferent Nature understands my heart
stirred by desire to cultivate the land
with seeds of fate I scatter with my hand
in soil that willfully misunderstands
puzzle of fate I assemble from dreams
that leave me sad when I wake before dawn.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus gazes at Mount Rainier glowing gold at sunset and wonders if the sleeping volcano may erupt from wrath of Jupiter.

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

Broken Country Of The Heart
© Surazeus
2025 08 24

Lost in the broken country of my heart,
I offer love to my friends in the art
of sentences composed of fractured words
expressed by thought cadence of chirping birds,
though our midnight audience is now gone,
musical voices fading with the dawn.

Sometimes I am so happy with myself
I leave my sorrows hidden on the shelf
in secret library of weeping books
by which people are defined by their looks,
so I open locked doors with sword of truth
to prove I should play the messiah sleuth.

Though I have lived with blindness of the mind,
compelled by experience acting kind,
I overcome with laughter obstacles
through automatic flash of molecules
threading gold light with circumscribed intent
to achieve objective without precedent.

If I prove intent of serious grief
by holy nun who wanders wish massif
with prayer book written with green dragon blood,
I kneel with her where lotus blooms from mud
along the pebbled brook of honesty
where she derides our social travesty.

She gives me precious token of her soul
with vague concern that I should meet her goal
of building paradise in the fear zone
to preserve our memories in the rolling stone
which crushes clay-foot idol forged from gold
defined by set points of the manifold.

Though twitter I hear opposite the sea
reveals how to attain land of the free,
my heart may subdivide from gratitude
in wounds healed never by the platitude
which arrogant people shout to assert
unproven right to own the fertile dirt.

With generous passion of strange privacies,
contrived from paintings of anxieties,
I choose allegiance that quells vain regret
for sacred goddess in the minaret
who sings heart-aching spells of loyal faith
to travelers haunted by the lunar wraith.

We struggle to transcend delirium
with ambiguous chance for Elysium,
yet share mysterious wisdom of the rain
that seems to wash away all mental pain,
so if we follow riddles of the chart
we may find broken country of the heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus sells maps to the broken country of the heart in the gift shop next to the Zarathian Museum of Never-Famous Poets.

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

Wish Clock Of Nevermore
© Surazeus
2025 08 24

Through clever realignment of the mind,
adjusted by wish clock of Nevermore,
I redefine strange beauty of the world
with psychic formulas of selfless love
that get erased from hungry brains of hope
by shattered silence of indifferent moons.

With frantic swirling of calm ocean waves,
reprogrammed by wish clock of Nevermore,
I climb steep mountain slope of loyal faith
by gripping roots from ancient trees of truth
till I achieve the highest point of fame
from which I fall on wingless flight of fate.

Despite reluctant passion art requires,
telecast by wish clock of Nevermore,
I illustrate strange progress of my life,
farmer to jester to wizard to king
crucified on telephone pole of power
till I freeze into statue of Apollo.

Eager to explore our vast galaxy,
mismeasured by wish clock of Nevermore,
I see long string of forty satellites
glitter white as pearls from eyes of gods
as they float slow above the mountain ridge
before they merge in matrix of the stars.

Aware that winners invent history,
rewritten by wish clock of Nevermore,
I build conceptual walls of paradise
from painful memories of the war-displaced
who linger at locked gateway to success
and whisper names of dead people they love.

Unsure if I am still alive or not,
forgotten by wish clock of Nevermore,
I bend my head, heavy with noble horns,
to drink from sparkling pond of earnest faith
where phantom of my soul smiles back at me,
so I prance haughtily in misty woods.

Reluctant to participate in games,
assisted by wish clock of Nevermore,
I map each water tower and lighthouse
which link every small town across the land
in social network that makes strangers friends
so we together lament death of God.

Inspired by graceful woman I adore,
unfathomed by wish clock of Nevermore,
I photograph her standing in the hall,
in many-roomed mansion where no one lives,
gazing at portrait of Truth on the wall
then we eat supper with laughter and love.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus arrives at the many-roomed mansion where Artemis asks him to repair the broken wish clock of Nevermore, then afterward they drink wine and kiss.

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

Eyes Of Flaming Stars
© Surazeus
2025 08 23

Almost forgotten in the hour of moons,
six thousand years of battle for the land,
the nameless child with eyes of flaming stars
picks fruit from trees along the river shore
and sells them in the market of desire
where God sits on ziggurat of the eye.

I dream this waking vision of the past
after the truck crashes into my car
while I lie paralyzed on red asphalt
and watch history of wars play on the cloud
when men kill men to control fertile land
embodied by women who create life.

Strapped to the gurney of bold innocence,
I wonder at miracle of the car
propelled by piston engine of desire
that zooms through spiraling tunnel of time
with eerie demonic wails of rectitude
past parks where families picnic without fear.

Uncertain about the future event,
we wait for hummingbirds to bring the news
that we are trapped in fake contingencies
defined by conditions of providence
required by law to state false messages
painted on the Grecian Urn of romance.

Since no one hears the sweet nightingale sing,
except in fantasy novels of fate,
I open fridge door of curious angst
to find spoiled memories, rotten with faith,
so I eat sorrow of the fallen god
who shouts that he is still Hyperion.

Though I die for beauty with arrogance
I will not stay adjusted in the tomb
next to the tragic clown who dies for truth
yet seeks to solve the social mystery
that pervades angry well of honesty
because I cannot simplify her ghost.

Related somehow to the maybe soon,
mute with timidity of haunted homes,
I ask the grass about nature of man
as she emerges from soil of the Earth,
but she refuses to explain the why
encoding formulas that measure fate.

When she insists with velvet-tender voice
that hope is strange invention of the weak,
I run with fierce embellishment of faith
through tuned momentum of angelic form
in unremitting action that adjusts
stiff attitudes in men afraid of death.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus stops before the market booth of the nameless child who sells fruit from the Tree of Life to buy three apples of divine knowledge.

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

Demon Wings Of Hope
© Surazeus
2025 08 23

Stark silence of the canyon-hearted soul
expands beyond walls of the spinning globe
where children of the ocean crawl on rocks
to reach for stars that bloom as golden fruit
which sparks their hearts with visions of world peace,
yet fight over whose version is the best.

Blank door of my soul opens in the sky
so I soar down on demon wings of hope
to scatter apple seeds on parking lots
so trees consume towers of steel and glass,
providing shelter for birds of the mind
that laugh at how I weep for liberty.

Strange sunset glow of timeless urgency
gleams deeply sad on endless winding road
that leads our quest round grim Ohio hills
on hopeful journey to the Promised Land
that always shimmers with inviting dreams
just beyond dim horizon of tomorrow.

Young woman wearing black mask of the crow
stares longingly at sky of empty words
while silver rain slithers down her long hair
since words do not always agree with deeds
without context of calm perplexity
till I return from sailing the world sea.

Except for how time redesigns my face,
I never change essential state of being
that radiates from cracked clay bowl of my heart
through fraught reverberations of blind gods
who ride the wagon train on signless road
that winds along the river of black blood.

Awake on bridge of frantic energy,
I am concerned how rocks on lonely roads
chat about artificial intelligence
since I am working on a much higher level
that anyone else in the crowded world
as top critical thinker of all time.

At the hour of our birth each human being
is assigned our name, religion, and race,
then spend the rest of our preprogrammed life
defending that fictional identity
that remains as mask of our private tale
hanging on museum wall of lost souls.

In our unseasonable reprieve from fate
after climbing sunless mountains of fear
we remove our fur coats with aching sighs
to dance among the apple trees of faith
after our civilizations collapse,
then tell each other stories as we die.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus sells demon wings of hope from his roadside stand at the weekly farmers market in the quaint college town where people from all over the world wander lost.

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

Chase The Rainbow Ghost
© Surazeus
2025 08 22

Atrocious process of the supine mind
expands contrary hope for fractured rain
that readjusts how eyes perceive strange wind
except when children chase the rainbow ghost
who gambles for the fool to win the game
though she just started learning yesterday.

Lost in dark Paris streets of tangled fate
one hundred years ago from this taut hour,
my spirit seeks in maze of mirror masks
defrayed excuse to chase the rainbow ghost
in fight against the clown of everywhere
whose tricks defraud the faithful of their truth.

Yet time unwinds electric clocks of fear
defined by numbers twisted to reflect
irreverent code for programming weird shows
that depict how gods chase the rainbow ghost
who slithers from deep well of Melusine
with broken lyre no angel wants to play.

If best way to experience primal faith
is hiking rugged river trail of pines
where silver water tumbles famously
with eager flight to chase the rainbow ghost
across enormous boulders of respect,
I sit and smell sharp scent of mountain dirt.

With playful leaps of artful gratitude
I hop enormous boulders of my heart
to ask weird wizard of surreal airports
secret we need to chase the rainbow ghost
who builds new hydrostone church of the goat
we should expunge from list of lonely halls.

Her white dress spread on lawn of sacred trust,
Faith smiles with innocence of golden flowers
that shimmer at soft breath of her moist lips
as she watches me chase the rainbow ghost
embodied by the horse with flowing mane
whose eyes glow with honest flames of her heart.

Death invents new way of speaking our hearts
so we wave flags of national intent
to protest neglect of our serpent bones
left behind when we chase the rainbow ghost
in sepia rain that helps us understand
shades of umber extracting clouds of thought.

Dire crickets pixilate snowflakes of passion
which proves the afterlife never occurs,
described by monologue of pretty souls
who carve machines that chase the rainbow ghost
in vain attempt to recreate the world
in image of the beast with fragile wings.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus hangs out with Tristan Tzara in the Paris cafe who chat about the latest trends in art created by artificial intelligence of maladjusted language tricks.

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

Sharp Ache Of Truth
© Surazeus
2025 08 20

He opens the notebook with sudden urge
to record the random thoughts of his mind,
but taps his fingers on blank page of doubt
with idle nonchalance of the snide seer
amazed at meaningless sublime of life
that pierces his heart with sharp ache of truth.

The microscopic thought of measured words,
that myths will die with makers of their truth,
accelerates his plunge in solid sea
imperceptible to most honest tribes
who attend church of the mental disease
with crypto-mystic code of abstract faith.

Exact assertion of lightness we share
luminates inner core of secret homes
with upward motion onto downcast stars
where devils crawl across the pleasant sky
with universal sadness no one buys
though knowledge dawns before the end of time.

Untethered spirit of angelic faith
floats over fields of unwalled paradise
where we attempt to raise the dead with prayers
that crack brute lamentation of the sky
despite abysmal waste of stubborn lust
that almost drowns us in our bitter tears.

Since he has time to live well in this world
against all odds of arrogant respect,
he dances with immune abandonment
where fairies of midsummer gamble fate
against conceptual clock of each new hour
that renders aspect of the forest pool.

All children know that God was never real
except ideal our parents advocate
as goal for which we strive with rectitude
to transcend limitations of our brains
by wearing fur in harsh Antarctic hills
at sudden thoughtlessness of ecstasy.

Good fluencies of routines mimicked well
infect Hadean source of spirit pain
with frantic gestures of our personage
when he decides to photograph the sun
who lounges naked on fluffed clouds of fate
to taste disfigurement of mortal masks.

He likes this version of himself much more
than solemn language of irreverence,
so he invents new theologic code
that defines fake parameters of fear
though trapped in self-delusion of lost faith
still piercing his heart with sharp ache of truth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus pulls spear of truth out of his wounded heart, then asks the child if God is real before he floats away on ocean waves to prophesy the rise of Zarathia from ruins of America.

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

World Battle Of Wits
© Surazeus
2025 08 20

As cartographer for strange world of myth,
the poet maps wild landscape of our dreams
based on memories of all our ancestors
programmed into how our brain operates
through actions they performed in face of death
to generate new life before they died.

As mechanic for engine of our souls,
the poet finetunes weird conceptual tropes
that program how our dream-brain operates
adjusting systems through ontology
our bodies use to function in routines
we employ to create life before death.

As dancer on the stage of global tales,
the poet inhales memories of the past
and exhales hopes for the future with faith
to leap across abyss of nothingness
when we attempt to overcome ourselves
and create new character we perform.

As insurance broker for our games of chance,
the poet sells illusions people wield
to shield their fragile spirits from despair
in brutal fight against tellers of truth
who dare expose hypocrisy of pride
that crumbles in relentless storm of change.

As bold unacknowledged legislator,
the poet glorifies the honest soul
who works to create rather than destroy
by depicting how they suppress false views
through logical analysis of cause
that computes effect of world social peace.

As mathematician of the psychic code,
the poet calculates firm formulas
assembling puzzles of surreal terrain
through undulating matrix of the mind
that forms foundation of our state contract
contrived by task orders of divine perception.

As jester in the academic court,
the poet mimics personalities
by wearing intricate mask of the I
to play comedy of success in love
or tragedy of failure in blind pride
that adjusts moral behavior of fools.

As spellcaster in world battle of wits,
the poet chants wyrd hexagraphic spells
projecting virtual model of the world
in vision of the way thoughts ought to be
that transform through alchemical virtue
how we perceive Ideas of the real world.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus guides visitors through the Zarathian Museum of World Famous Poets to present the various stereotypes they employ to trick mankind into seeing beyond the veil of illusion.

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

Subtle Winds Of Memory
© Surazeus
2025 08 19

Though subtle winds of Memory sweep the lyre
with rays of wisdom luminating truth,
I walk from exile of neglected faith
to bear the quivering beams of rectitude
that paint the flowers of entangled thoughts
with jeweled joy I buy through suffering.

Though morning light expands its timeless glow
on all that answers shimmer of its truth,
I wander lost in tangled woods of doubt
to find bright crystal of eternal hope
that fractures when I grasp its fragile beam
which animates anew my wayward heart.

Though I attempt to map the wilderness,
composed from swirl of wild ambitious sands,
I hope with eager consciousness of cause
to quote old universal laws of time
how Reason turns her dazzled eye away
from rapturous beauty of this changing world.

Though death chains pinions of my wildest thought
to set the cosmic laws of fate at naught,
I measure fantasy of Earth we love
with strictest eye of art forged from starlight
to swirl ethereal light of wordless souls
with radiant mystery of poetic charm.

Though I glide over Earth on zephyr wing
to conjure fruit trees from greed-wasted soil,
I land in broad elm, empress of vast hills,
my spirit surfeited with fancy state
recorded in sly idyls of our greener age
to live with instinct in survival mode.

Though first-born pulse moving in my mind
seems to narrow path of fortune I choose,
I dance in lonely vales of fertile faith,
unsullied by loud engine roar of cars,
to make Arcadia in my secret glade
beneath the star-crowned cliff of honesty.

Though garish guardians of the galaxy
map fabled valleys on Elysian isles,
I open gates of Eden for the world
to visit vast amusement park of God
who teaches us to dial tone of the spheres
where we play happy games with seraph wings.

Home of my childhood in small Texas town
burned down at strike of lightning in fierce storm,
so I lie unknown in lush empty lot
to ponder sweetness of this painful life,
when Memory sweeps electric strings of love
that vibrate radiant on lyre of my heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus tries to record the eerie melodies of fate that vibrate from subtle winds of Memory when he strums strings of the cordial lyre of truth.

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

Give Their Eyes To Time
© Surazeus
2025 08 19

When I fall from wish of the winking sun,
I consider the fish inside my mouth
that seems to speak about wisdom for me,
so I strip mask of my face off the sky
to reveal the divine soul of my heart
which consumes darkness to radiate light.

When I adjust my mind to understand
strange language of the stubborn ocean waves,
I travel country roads to farmless towns
where children practice secret devilry
in spite of music wailing from dead trees
where lonely people give their eyes to time.

When I wake from suffering of river stones
at shocking laughter of the mirror brain,
I channel voice of the people in jokes
that deconstruct our social privilege
related to how ravens trick mad gods
to lose their keys in frantic game of chess.

When I drive slowly on the winding road
among tall oaks long rotten from sad rain,
I calculate the distance I must travel
to reach the holy temple on the hill
where singing skull of Orpheus relates
chemical formulas that light the soul.

When I design new concept of the gun
as camera that beams vision of doubt,
I film progress of social liberty
every great empire grows from how to why
till moral doctrines on the legal chart
are outlined to define the wrong from right.

When I taste bitter sorrow that turns bland
at glow of jewels in electric caves,
I attend college for jesters and clowns
who lead war refugees in revelry
to forget bombing of their homes with ease
when they elect as president the mime.

When I carve prophecies on dragon bones
in attentive gamble to ascertain
obvious features of the conceptual hoax,
I unpuzzle gospel through sacrilege
which proves the best soul-forms are tetrapods
who strive to uphold freedom of the press.

When I find temple of the humming toad
in voice-echoed swamp of psychotic rain,
I study truths of history that unravel
adamant doctrine that we have free will
to perform actions decreed by the fates
who challenge each other for the god role.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus teaches people of every age at the Academy of Skull Poetics how to give their eyes to time with calm acceptance of random chance.

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

Hundred Isles Of Skythe
© Surazeus
2025 08 18

Native to sorrow of my Mother Land,
where ghosts of my ancestors live in trees,
I send song of my heart on wind of time
so you can hear voice of my deathless soul
sing in silver laughter of the wild stream
that bears my memories to the golden sea.

Yet silent beauty of gold mountain slopes,
veiled by moon-glittered mist of aching hope,
call me to return across the fierce sea
to rugged island where my mother Skythe
stood tall as jagged peak of honesty
against rampaging horde of bitter thieves.

Heart-aching song of flute she played at dawn
still echoes soft in valley of my heart
three thousand years later with haunting tone
that shoots shiver of awe along my spine
so tears of loss flow down my wrinkled cheeks
because her face still glows clear in my mind.

I want to build huge castle of strong stone
to shelter her from storm of hungry greed
that drives aggressive men to clutch at wind
as they shout vainly that this land is theirs
till their bodies crumble into mute dirt
where their bones form foundation of her power.

Great empire she constructed with bold words,
that once enclosed the Hundred Isles of Skythe,
vanished from songs of people in the wind,
yet spirit of her heart, bright as sunlight,
gleams still on rugged hills in swirling mist
where ravens flock above lush Fairy Glen.

When I wake from dream of green hills in mist
three hours after midnight of flowing time,
I see elegant face of Skythe lit gold
as she grips serpent writhing in her hand
and tells me secret of eternal life
hidden in the scarlet egg of her heart.

Forever running toward the mountain peak,
I breathe attentive spirit of the sky,
then gaze back on long winding road of hope
I blazed from Skythia to the Promised Land
to understand how I achieved my aim,
then gaze far west with blazing eyes of faith.

Few may remember gleam of her green eyes,
verdant as looming mountains of her heart,
yet voice of her immortal spirit sings
in anguished cry that spirals from my breast
for Skythe still dreams in visions of my brain
that guide my journey to her isle of mist.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus climbs mountains slopes on the Isle of Skye to gaze with awe across the sparkling sea where Skythe stood singing in the mist of time.

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

Isolation Of The Heart
© Surazeus
2025 08 17

When he realizes with shock of cold wind
that woman he loves is about to die,
he allocates regressive plight to bend
ardent dismay by floating in the sky,
attuned to muted angst of humming wire
that translates electric song of the choir.

They walk together on the river shore,
catching fish with their alligator hands,
then gather pebbles from the sparkling stream
to build enormous mountain of fake words
where children play hide and seek with their ghosts
till first mother teaches us how to sing.

Extracting wisdom from the nuclear core,
he watches woman of time where she stands
in gleaming spotlight of apportioned dream
where typewriters give birth to psychic birds,
glad we find our mother on distant coasts
because she transforms into angel wing.

Since I want to join your curious journey
beyond enclosing walls of paradise,
you hire the most undevious attorney
to calculate the psycho-social price
we pay for isolation of the heart
quarantined through fortune of the star chart.

Embraced with graceful elegance of trust,
they dance in April breeze of yellow flutes,
rehearsing for the fantasy of dust
Morpheus sprinkles on their love-grown roots
as if they have no reason for regret
beyond eloquence of the alphabet.

She would decipher his pandemic code
based on flight of their reality scale,
but she explains that every soul on Earth
is soaked by the same rain from the same sky,
so we climb inside the language machine
to steer our ship of state past rocks of fear.

I would walk ten thousand miles on the road
to be with you, though we succeed or fail
in game of life, to disprove social worth
that people use to judge the state of why
through analysis some dare contravene
in grand convention of the puppeteer.

He holds her hand with gentle loving care
while she goes about her business of death
which divides concept of the mutual pair
committed to union of mental breath
so she becomes the glowing beam of light
that guides his way in long lament of night.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus holds hand of Ophelia as she lies ill in bed after their long romantic journey on the road of life since he first rescued her from drowning as she clutched the flowers of evil.

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

Write Our Secret Thoughts
© Surazeus
2025 08 17

Flowers bloom from bodies of fallen angels
through skeleton beams of arrogant water
with abnegation of conceptual wealth
that heals assertive wound of silences
which form attentive matrix of the mind
since we are born to write our secret thoughts.

Awake with energetic fallacies
encased in psychic pod of spiral wings,
I study how tarantula of truth
explores vast arboretum of my heart,
veiled by frantic curtains of hotel rooms,
to explain how we write our secret thoughts.

Through zigzag travesty of pestilence,
frozen with penumbras of holy night,
I float with pollen from attractive flowers
that crack through boxes of suave predators
who leap on pedestals of pompous pride
to pretend Death will write our secret thoughts.

Fierce wound of moisture flooding hollow hope
exposes sorrow through abandonment
that nameless children in orphanages
exchange with verdant petals of fruit trees
since ghosts play games in columbarium
where we must learn to write our secret thoughts.

Red liquid fabricates constructed slowness
through hyperfixation on the same chair
based on brilliant sensory overload
designed to help my stumbling honesty
to function through strict routine of bad faith
despite attempts to write our secret thoughts.

Undiagnosed weirdness I choose to own
reveals mislabeled attitude of fear
contrived by jesters through rebellion
to seek comfort in fraught danger of war
because the fluffy black cat knows the way
which helps us learn to write our secret thoughts.

Four horsemen of the new apocalypse
consider ways to improve politics
based on hope, justice, empathy, and truth
as we storm citadel of apathy
through bid to redesign America
from plans for which we write our secret thoughts.

I pour my soul in mirror of my child
who crawls across the mountain range of stars
with winding uncertainty of old rivers
when we bequeath our social legacy
in harmony with vast tectonic plates
encoding tricks to write our secret thoughts.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus compiles dictionary to help our children translate and analyze the conceptual spells in which we write our secret thoughts.

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

Nature-Wise Woman
© Surazeus
2025 08 17

The nature-wise woman in the white dress,
who disappears in vast mirror of words,
scatters puzzling fragments of her glass soul
as seeds in pungent soil of anywhere
so children of the laughing tree spring tall
to float in rotating sky of the mind.

Let Death come slowly as drifting snowflakes
with frail perfection of the glacier mask
that cracks awake at surrender to fate
when we explore the wilderness of words
because she believes that if Time is God
then Memory is the Devil we still follow.

Because the dead can never hear me sing
through whistle of the tea kettle and train,
I strive to transcend the ghost of my brain
who weaves my sorrow into angel wing
so I lounge safe in backyard of my home,
refusing to misunderstand desire.

Dazzling silence blows cold with tenderness
despite frank fullness of the thoughtful moon
though dreams I hid with limited surprise
always seem to be for sale at the store
trapped in the voice box of the naked god
who asks me to close my eyes with new faith.

My heartbeat records history of mankind
who sails the sea that shimmers in my eyes
without admitting that we weep with hope
for somewhere to build home of singing skulls
with both hands extended to the rich sky
in restless search for meaning in the stone.

Searching outside paradise, I engage
with diverse voices of strangers I love
who stand on stones by rivers of respect
to sing strange ache of sorrow from their hearts
in psalms preserved by tongueless scribes of faith
who write our secret thoughts with angel blood.

Sweet miracle through the spider of fate
inspires my heart to slog in swamp of words
with delicate wings of swift hummingbirds
so laughing girls who crowd around the gate
share fruit they gather in the misty woods
while weaving wreaths from sorrow of my heart.

Though all the people I have met in life
are somewhere far away on road of hope,
I see their faces in waves of the sea
shining with feathers of electric birds
who flock around woman in the white dress
to savor blueness of the timeless sky.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus accepts the challenge to sing about strange beauty of the naked soul that humans attempt to mask with faith.

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

Angel Blood Of Truth
© Surazeus
2025 08 16

When I am old and on the verge of death
I will travel back through spiral of time
to meet young hopeful version of myself
and embrace my breast while I weep with love,
then fill my heart with courage to endure
long journey where I lose before I gain.

Now that I near the end of my life road
I turn back to see how I lived each day
traveling my land sea to shining sea
as I created with craft of my hands
safe garden home from vision of my heart
so my children may live after I die.

From nothing I constructed sturdy home
that shelter souls of my children and spouse
from hostile forces of weather and fear
by building empire with surrounding walls
that enclose the whole world in paradise
though time will erase us all from its dream.

Though stone of fear, bound to my soul with hate,
drags me down into swirling sea of hope,
I cut myself loose from doctrines of pride
to emerge from lightless depths of despair
and walk again on road of fate I blaze,
pregnant with stary-eyed goddess of the sky.

On iridescent thoughts of angel wings
I walk among world crowd of staring eyes
to fight against injustice of blind greed
with fierce attention to needs of their hearts
so with full hands of generous respect
I bestow gifts of the stars for their growth.

From cave of sorrows in waste land of fear
I walk the signless road to Wonderland
where I fight thieves and tyrants in the rain
till new star of my fate shines in the sky
bestowing grace of wisdom on my head
in diamond of insight that guides my way.

By right of birth with angel blood of truth,
beamed in my heart with holy sword of faith,
I forge vast empire of lost refugees
who build flourishing gardens of fruit trees
that spread from temple on the ziggurat
where I watch over people of my land.

Against all odds of brutal obstacles,
hurled at my heart with grasping hands of greed,
I overcome assassins wielding rage
to stand tall on high mountain of the truth
with Lamp of Liberty and Book of Deeds
to guard fertile land of Zarathia.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury and sings epic tale about the life of the Great Queen Seondeok who laid the foundation for Shingook Shilla to unite the three kingdoms of Sam Ham in one Korea.

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

Yearly Laughter Of Fate
© Surazeus
2025 08 15

Eager to share yearly laughter of fate
with millions of workers in cubicles,
I deal cards of fortune to manage hate
that cracks foundation of our noble state
because I measure waves of particles
that program crystal brain of the robot.

Unconcerned about whether or not
anyone loves me, I dance among bees
to map arch of the bridge Lucifer bought
when he revived the angel who got shot
attempting to control the river breeze
as incarnation of some long-dead king.

Therefore I will take you under my wing
to shelter your spirit from social storm
that shakes hearts of the people as they sing
hymn of honor to demon with the ring
that renders invisible mental form
to bind my soul in swirl of time and space.

My emotions are written on my face
since I am qualified by psychic right
to talk about my secret knowledge base
when I analyze aspects of the case
through investigation of divine light
refracted through theology of fame.

When I consider new rules for the game
we play to decide who has right to rule,
I order puzzle in conceptual frame
to arrange whatever is not the same
that we construct with help of the dream tool
when building naked walls of paradise.

Therefore I stop to consider the price
that Fortune requires our bodies to pay
if we avoid going through it all twice
by exercising privilege through vice
to search the waste land for the Golden Way
in quest that resembles the rolling stone.

I carve tale of my life on dragon bone
with Runes of Power designed by the girl
who explores the vast multiverse alone
with radiant elegance of the star tone,
then carves virtual Earth on the shiny pearl
which twirls in air above the pyramid.

Great Eye of Wisdom at core of the grid,
which weaves tight matrix of calculus brains
in humans frail as sly ephemerid,
reveals through mirror that devils forbid
eccentric code of linguistic domains
where worshippers of laughter congregate.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus records the yearly laughter of fate in the Chronicle of Lost Causes that now lies open in glass case in the Zarathian Museum of Ridiculous Truths.

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

Want To Build My House
© Surazeus
2025 08 15

I want to build my house with sturdy walls
inside wide bend of the sparkling river
so we can play beneath lush apple trees
in fertile valley among verdant hills,
but dream of paradise vanished in mist
six thousand years before hour of my birth.

Orange mist sparkles in maze of cement streets
from lights in windows of tall square steel towers
as I walk cluttered sidewalk past street lamps
to red-brick apartment with fear-locked doors
where I sit at wood desk by the cracked window
and type lines of verse about paradise.

Slicing beef, onions, peppers, and tomatoes,
I grill supper on apartment rooftop
while ravens gather on sagging phonelines,
then eat hamburger in eerie moonlight
in sad attempt of my time-aching heart
to recreate paradise of the past.

Strumming guitar with callused fingertips,
I sing, "Today is last day of my job,
so when I get home I will write weird poem
of how my hopeless heart still longs to roam
sea to shining sea in land of the free,"
then quick-pick old heart-breaking melody.

While typing endless lines of tangled verse
to help my restless spirit navigate
confusing maze of myths in human dreams,
I look up at flutter of eager wings
to see the citrine wagtail with sharp eyes
that seem to see weird beauty of my soul.

So I think about the day years ago
when man first walked on surface of the moon
to find that angels live in paradise
where thousands of crystal cathedrals gleam
because I want to understand how fate
is written by each choice our wild hearts make.

I want to return to Calabria
to live in Aragonese Castle I built
with noble purpose to guard paradise,
but I stroll down to the corner cafe
to eat beef sandwich with cheese on rye
while helicopters putter in the sky.

Old woman who survived the holocaust
paints portrait of me as angel with wings,
then conjures the moon from song of the sea
so I understand truth of liberty
earned by the courage of great warriors
willing to die to protect paradise.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus gazes out the window of his apartment to watch hundreds of people in the street below going to dance clubs on late Friday night.

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

Ledger Of Failed Projects
© Surazeus
2025 08 14

My name is incarnation of the sky
that reflects faces of people who search
nowhere for the ledger of failed projects
in formulas written with hot swamp mud
so we can hear the silent voice of God
that never speaks the name we cherish well.

Our skeletons of glass dance in the rain
to hold aggressive gusts of lonely wind
with hand of honesty no one respects
despite the woman in the howling train
who sings strange wisdom of the burning book
so I can see the face of god again.

She carves excessive elegy of faith
in veil of dust that swirls in ecstasy
deep in green silence of exploding trees
because we keep on dying before dawn
when sunlight strikes blow at the gloom of time
while counting casualties in civil wars.

Sweet bluster of brass cannons in the mist
expresses sorrow for each soul who dies
as flicker of shadow gleaned from my eyes
that sparks songs on the radio of fate
where faceless ghosts on mournful landscape vote
for demon hidden in the singing book.

Infected with experience of hope,
we search for hillside where all knowledge ends
to find how love springs from the anguished heart
trapped in library of the burning book
where faceless ghosts preserve dreams of lost scrolls
in glowing embers of seraphic eyes.

Adrift on great emptiness of nine seas,
I peer through spectacles of glowing glass
to read verse riddles of atomic nodes
describing solemn artifacts of faith
which I cast carelessly in divine flames
when I push boldly in fog of the future.

Fierce consciousness that shimmers in my brain
scores notes of music in grand symphonies
to praise demonic child of wordless dreams
who opens wide every museum door
to release faceless ghosts of my ancestors
who gather in coliseum of hope.

Though candle of truth flickers at midnight
she guides the seraphim in silver gowns
with eerie music of the golden ring
that spirals tight with old ancestral genes
preserving all our memories in tale code
that writhe in vision of the world I make.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus wanders endless museum where nothing man has made has ever been preserved except in shadows of sponge-wet brains.

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

People Can Be Good
© Surazeus
2025 08 14

After Plato reveals the ideal Chair,
that vibrates with essence of its true purpose,
I sit on concept of its sturdiness,
then lift angelic quill of timeless truth
to write map of the world in lines of verse
expressing love for weird reality.

Ungrateful ignorance of the cracked mirror
exposes sweet rainwater of despair
that flows with lambent horror of respect
from brute unwillingness of honest men
to criticize deception of the church
in harmony with stillness of the lake.

Secretions of absent thought clutter hope
with pure contamination of concern
ensconced with sinister presence of love
that muzzles frozen smiles of honesty
riveted at parade of overlords
who scatter skulls of gods on marble floors.

Exception to confinement rules reverts
all closing arguments to baseless fear
surprised by boredom of the humble king
who sifts through evidence of brutal crimes
to judge the devil with assertive laws
through occasional whispers of sweet lies.

Harsh hunger of communion with the dead
excels in tentative conclusions formed
by reasonable doubt in windowless rooms
where faceless ghosts riot for better pay
till bud of contingency blooms from graves
through disagreement of fierce gratitude.

False evidence that birds know how to flow
should clarify why invisible hands
veil horrible accident of lost love
with tattered curtain of heavenly hope
despite assurances through martyrdom
that true love shall nullify tedium.

Assurance of redemption, before death
erases sorrow and joy from aching hearts,
encourages every fool to sing hymns
with cunning trial of resourcefulness
that never matches strange alternatives
to purchase wish fulfillment from their god.

Extending upturned palms of clemency,
long empty of our pregnant solitude,
we listen to silence for Word of God
that whispers in leaves of old apple trees
instead of shouting loud in hurricanes
because we believe people can be good.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus tears pages of his hymns from the Anthology of Thirty-Third Century Zarathian Poetry.

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

Fight To Live Free
© Surazeus
2025 08 13

Electrified by terror of the word
that redefines stature of the absurd,
I ask the old clown by the twisted tree
why most humans never fight to live free,
but he just laughs and gives me juice to drink,
so I sit on statue of Phoebus to think.

Astonished by reluctance of despair
that modifies direction of the stair,
I climb Death Mountain to Heaven at dawn
then lie naked on the lush castle lawn
while people wearing fancy clothes object
to ontology of my globe map project.

Disturbed by happiness children express
by joining ranks of fame-obsessive press,
I write reports on how wealthy gods cheat
to conquer lush land with exploring fleet
so refugees from war can build new homes
in bleak wilderness where the jester roams.

Surprised by earnest passion of the fool,
I paint murals of heroes on the school
so children can learn about national heroes
who smile bravely in spite of their dark sorrows
then choose which mask of god they wear to play
eternal chess games on the golden way.

Desired by faceless ghosts on ocean shores
who call me secret name in global cores,
the Sad Librarian gives me ancient book
that maps world empire of the honest cook
so I can understand his sincere heart
by redrawing fortune of my star chart.

Deprived by liberty of dream resource
through years of discipline in the Mind Force,
I resurrect maternal ghost of fate
to rechannel aggressive force of hate
in project to transform our fractured state
to global empire of the caliphate.

Concerned by sudden blast of fervid light
that shrouds vast city maze in veil of fright,
I shelter crone of wisdom with my pride
against stammered tirade I try to hide
till twitching arm of my ghost self decides
to cage my demon spirit in sweet brides.

Detached from cantos of the holy cage
where angels prance obscenely on glass stage,
I linger patiently on library stairs,
unwilling to burn books on country fairs
where farmers gather to celebrate life
in tense peace after patriotic strife.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus finds bodies of Jesus and Sad Librarian in bombed house as it crumbles into wild waves of the rising sea.

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

Fruit We Steal From Fate
© Surazeus
2025 08 12

This is no time for the dead to sing hymns
that guide the living to the afterthought
where apples dangle luridly on limbs
which interlace strange temples devils sought
when they tore off masks of humanity
in revelation of the forlorn toad.

Yet we will gather on the river shore
and tell each other we are still alive,
then give each other fruit we steal from fate
to seal concentric progress of the gate
which keeps our garden safe from hungry thieves
who search all night for where the Mermaid lives.

The special people with divine god-bones
perform dramatic anguish of their lives
while we who crawl in dirt to read white stones
cater to all their needs in servitude,
except the jester with the attitude
who juggles television tubes and knives.

What new event of shocking certitude
could I declare with statements forged from truth
except that humans live in fantasies
constructed firm from holophrastic lies,
designed to twist our brains in rainbow spires
so we sing ancient songs in holy choirs.

Reluctant to let go mask of my pride,
which still protects my heart from insolence,
I open front door of my humble home
and shout at clouds about their random swirls
because I am invention of smart girls
who shaped my personality from mud.

Thus I object with sly impertinence
to hostile arrogance disguised with smiles
when Fear admonishes me with snarky sneers
that I should be absolute for sweet Death
through reason of influence from blank skies
as fool nursed by baseness of valiance.

Since we exist on countless thousand grains
that issue out of dust lit by sunbeams,
we should not strive to gain more than we need
when our complexions shift to strange effects
caused by desire to journey beyond time
as effusions springing from frantic brains.

Dreaming of my youth that slips long away
in palsied state of wisdom bought with pain,
I sell my beauty to affective fate
denoting disturbance of mental mood
through expression of primary respect
trapped in relentless sentence of fake words.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus frees the young woman from the prison cell where she rejected blackmail by the prison ward to free people she loves from prison of fear for nothingness of death.

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

One Can Almost Not
© Surazeus
2025 08 12

One can almost not hear song of the rain
echo down long dark hallways of old schools
where weeping fairies who clutch leather books
scatter letters from ancient epics on the floor
till they sprout butterfly wings and escape
solemnity of anguish no one shares.

One can almost not see wild man of bones
leaping aloft on wings of wicked laughter
while chasing young lovers in misty vales
to tear beauty from their soft writhing bodies
with mortal blow of the drunken wingbeat
that cracks glaciers converting tears to lakes.

One can almost not smell pungent regret
dispersed in sterile winds of wretched faith
that glistens with sharp ennui of contempt
when vampire swan with wings blackened by blood
scatters horror of death from twisted plumes
caught in the phantom engine of the plane.

One can almost not taste metallic lust
immobilized by scorn of useless hope
that countless wanderers across waste lands
never sing in hymns at founding of kingdoms
that crumble at crack of demonic eggs
when no one shakes anguish off in hot rain.

One can almost not touch svelte flesh of pain
who lies on bed of roses in dark grotto
dripping with perfume of angelic blood
at how gods alter loyalties of fools
by clutching votive scroll of prophecies
soaked in pool of mud in the bright swamp.

One can almost not feel struggle undone
by graceless waddle of the crippled king
who vainly clutches broken wand of power
while teaching children how to chant weird spells
when they appear on television shows
anxious to win the contest for world fame.

One can almost not know truth about Death
who stares at us for endless centuries
as we perform our duties to the land
through calculation against bitter fate
to gain perspective on the way of things,
consigned to always replay how we die.

One can almost not sing reflective psalm
concerning methods gods use to rule mankind
by pulling painted faces from cracked mirrors
enough to navigate needs of the people
who strive to transcend trap of royalty
based on excessive prayers dead angels eat.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus explains to children gathered around his stone of sorrow about how they can learn to almost not cease to exist through illusion of song.

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

Where I Play God
© Surazeus
2025 08 11

While watching people live their daily lives
in god-eye of the television screen,
I forget to record their names and deeds
in Book of Sorrows buried in tree roots
that nourish Tree of Knowledge with our dreams
which gleam in raindrops on its twisted limbs.

I study features of each human face
that flickers briefly on the dream-time screen
so I can understand their secret thoughts
that flash in words across mask of their soul
though polished facade of arrogant pride
fragments into sorrow of broken dreams.

Blank faces of strangers I pass each day
while walking streets in maze of numbered doors
reflect unconscious feelings of my heart
so I see in expressions they display
secret character I attempt to hide
because I feel the whole world lurch sideways.

Thus I am ready to start work again
designing artificial worlds from dreams
where puppets of real people in my head
perform their roles preserved in fairy tales
where ten thousand incarnations of Phoebus
compete to wear his golden mask of fame.

I shall lay my skeleton of moon-glass
among bright flowers of Elysium
so bees brew mushroom honey from my blood
for children of the rainbow to consume
as they transform into shadows of light
who gaze at jagged mountains in blue dusk.

Orpheus strums the lyre of Mercury
while he explains in twisting waves of verse
that if we throw the true fortunate man
into the never-ending stream of fate
he will emerge with fresh fish in his mouth
that feed nine billion people stuck on Earth.

Because too many people judge my book
based on its cover, which depicts too well
obsessive nothingness of righteous faith
that causes me to wander off the trail
and struggle in the vine-entangled field,
I fill one basket with all my dream eggs.

When I blink from tension of the long day
at fading of my autocratic brain,
the multiverse of dream-conceptual code
winks out of existence from nothingness
till my neural net recreates the world
where I play god till death erases all.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus steals the lyre of Mercury from Lucifer, then retires to run his kingdom in the fields of Elysium where people become puppets in his songs.

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

Golden Road Of Success
© Surazeus
2025 08 10

Lost in mind-bending illusion of time,
preserved in television show of fate,
Gotenus runs across the muddy field
to catch rainbow of perspicacity,
shocked awake with discernment from despair
at the crumbling of his castle into sand.

Eager to learn flight from ravens of faith,
explained by snow flakes on the fractured screen,
Gotenus stops running by the highway
to stare at shadows streaking swiftly past
till his eyes, searching for horses, see cars,
glass coffins floating on four wheels of fate.

Astray far from golden road of success,
disoriented in maze of locked doors,
Gotenus searches among roots of trees
for sacred book he buried in his heart
which he plans to trade for the Holy Grail
that tumbles down stairs of the falling tower.

Ardent with fierce faith forged from suffering,
amazed at wisdom in song of the toad,
Gotenus preaches salvation by faith
in hollow horror of the empty church
while faceless ghosts sing sacred hymns of hope
for second coming of the long-dead king.

Zealous for aesthetic beauty of truth,
consumed by hunger of capital gains,
Gotenus calculates through numbers gain
return on investment from measurement
defining secret passion of the heart
while lovers replicate digital assets.

Anxious from strict efficiency of death,
bewildered at the birth of divine souls,
Gotenus stands at locked door of the tower
and calls name of Rapunzel with bold voice,
but Radigund, her daughter with Adonis,
appears at the window of fate instead.

Impatient for their wedding to begin,
invested in weird worship of the mind,
Gotenus stands before his princess bride
and gives her Wand of Ishtar with respect
so she wields global political power
to manage United Nations of Earth.

Fallen from Heaven on torn angel wings,
tricked by the Serpent Witch of Honesty,
Gotenus wanders gloomy halls of time
in many-roomed mansion of privilege,
calling for Radigund with anguished voice
who died in childbirth forty years before.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus arrives at the mansion with gifts for the new-born child of Gotenus and Radigund who is destined to reign as queen of the world.

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

Almost Obscene Truths
© Surazeus
2025 08 09

More than conceptual laughter of white crows,
or angels tangled in crabapple trees,
or green regret of almost obscene truths,
unfurling pages of observant books
reflect how children love to play at dusk
aggressive games against mute emptiness.

Because nothing begins with the glass trees
that intertwine burnt bodies dangerously,
we kiss too tender for angels to die
against assertive ardency of clocks
that strike us with libidinous concern
before the second coming of the horse.

Abandoned infants of the deviled seer
decide to salvage half-burned tree of faith
consumed by silver flames of baseless fears
when broadleaf shoots ascend toward fractured light
since winter sullies righteousness of love
which nature keys to propagate our brains.

With reckless courage of the chestnut horse
you dare decode lost chocolate cake of fame
despite the onyx storm of crumbling thrones
for which cruel oligarchs of banks compete
while ghosts stare at their faces in dead trees
beneath the brightening sky of fractured words.

Half dead already with the torch of time,
I keep on playing chess with angled tricks
in praise of mystery for the cheerful girl
who rides white bull of Zeus on ocean shore
to write unerring book of galaxies
with expert constancy of curious awe.

Some claim that darkness still unites our hearts
with distant coldness of internal space,
but I disprove their weird hypothesis
by catching raindrops from glass eyes of god
whose weeping causes world-destructive floods
while we sip root beers on library steps.

No ordinary god with zillion eyes of light
dwells happily on invisible worlds,
yet I confuse my pleasure with mute grief,
accustomed to grim quietude of time
when sand yawns vast as star-creating clouds
because my soul cannot be trapped by words.

I pierce adamant solitude of life,
evading need to die as sacrifice
so people of the world can read and write
with simple letters that signify sounds
though I dance ballet on transmission wires,
passionate to transcend my wretched pain.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus writes self-help book about almost obscene truths on the giant cockroach typewriter that mocks his confidence in psychiatric methods of enlightenment.

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

Perilous Maze Of Myths
© Surazeus
2025 08 09

Falling behind in progress of the wave
for project to translate song of the sea,
I run forever on the signless road
to save the human soul from slavery
by leaping in the air on lightning wings
in gamble for salvation against death.

To understand strange beauty of the light
that gleams on mirror of the boundless mind
I call blind Watcher on tower of glass
who points to constellations of the heart
that help my ghost achieve hard enterprise
transforming negative space into words.

With exiled children born from nothingness
I gather diamonds from the cave of lies
which fracture Earth into the multiverse
that beams inside eight billion human brains
based on forthrightness of harsh ridicule
that we endure with voices of the wind.

Now I am reborn from my rotten skull
as honest Watcher on tower of glass
assigned by Death to guard with starry eyes
lush valley of the soul-nurturing stream
with sparkles bright in trees of pungent fruit
where children of the serpent feast in faith.

Safe in green shadow of the split pine tree,
star-eyed Watcher of my maternal genes
brews honey-mushroom wine with cinnamon
that fills my body with electric flush
so my brain swells large as the galaxy
that nurtures zillions of organic souls.

In scarlet blaze of flaming falcon wings
my heart transcends material world of forms
to soar on commandeering flight of faith
beyond sadistic glimmer of despair
so I bless mankind with generous grace
by teaching them to write the alphabet.

Oppressive darkness of eternal dawn,
suffusing breast of wisdom with cold air,
asserts concern for stretched pursuit of truth
to build our nation based on measurement
through verification our brains perceive
so we relieve harsh suffering with doubt.

No laughing demons of regretful guilt
disrupt our ceremony of despair
for eyeless Watcher on tower of glass
designs new map to program our world view
which lights again lamp of Diogenes
who leads us through perilous maze of myths.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus sells maps to the Perilous Maze of Myths in his small booth at the farmers market in downtown Gotham City on Sabbath afternoon.

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

Fragile Life Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 08 09

The homeland of my heart changes each day
I wake in eerie light of the strange sun,
and sing of distances down signless roads
to bridge infinite nothing of respect
that spirals vastly between I and You
with uncertain connection of dream words.

Invisible thoughts I speak in whole words
coincide with visions our brains express
through principle of freedom time extends
across abyss of cosmic paradox
that gathers sense from countersense of truth
on which we build this fragile life of faith.

Across expanding boundaries of new words,
that we invent with automatic song,
I thrust unconscious passion for lush land
so words impregnant silence with weird dreams
through reminiscence for the spiritual
contained in static theme now possible.

Yet I pre-member life I soon will live
stored safe in stone of river-flowing hope
rendered more visible by placid flight
essential for unhidden confidence
consistent with conceptual accuracy
we share in songs around the crackling fire.

Receptive to connecting radiance
through core attitude of recited spells,
I measure fierce duration of cold breath
when I express experience I create
to master methods of perceptive growth
exploring foothills of remaining faith.

To claim uniqueness trapped in veil of change
based on shared cognizance of loyal friends
I chant spells which checkmate reality
constricted by assertion of faint chance
too random for incursions to regress
from shattered remnants of forgotten tales.

Porous construct of our fraught origin,
contrived by maternal instinct to search
for thoughts shaped round as berries and mushrooms,
knows we capitulate from cognizance
since nobody becomes what they are not,
ordered by monotone fragments of truth.

As representatives of divine light,
we arrogate tragic tales of success
for ourselves alone against tides of change
to claim responsibility for love
that radiates through mirrors of weird fate
on which we build this fragile life of faith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus lounges in class with his feet up on the desk as Paul Celan explains conceptual poetics of post-traumatic stress reorder.

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