Fallen Star Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 06 29

I promise not to sit with anyone else
but you under the apple tree of trust,
and walk lane of lovers in evening glow
with no one else but you till you return
from your investigation as dream sleuth
for secret in the fallen star of truth.

Ascending rugged slope with Spear of Strength,
Godin breaks through golden doors of desire
and battles Jupiter in pillared hall
so blades of bold authority clash loud
to control Mount Olympus as world god,
endowed with right by fallen star of truth.

While Gugnir, Spear of Strength, drips divine blood,
Godin steps over corpse of Jupiter
and clutches Hera with lascivious lust,
but finds old woman withered dry with age,
so he exiles her to garden of fruit
where she retires by fallen star of truth.

Leading Sleipnir, his white eight-legged horse,
into Olympian palace of world power,
Godin escorts Evilla, his sweet bride,
and crowns her Mother Empress of the Earth
with ring of gold studded with thirteen gems
to reign as Queen of Heaven with star eyes.

Strolling together in cool evening dusk
along lane of lovers where roses bloom,
Godin and Evilla sit by the pool
under the apple tree of holy faith,
which Lilith planted in Eden at dawn,
and kiss with passion of creative love.

Blending good and evil in one strong soul,
Godin and Evilla raise seven children
who play hide and seek in the maze of myths
where they paint marble idols of dead gods
with psychotic runes of false destiny
that encode spells from fallen star of truth.

After Godin overthrows Jupiter,
who overthrew Zeus, who overthrew Cronus,
who overthrew Uranus, new young god
will soon emerge from heart of human hope
to crown himself as Emperor of Earth
with wand of faith from fallen star of truth.

Awake midway in journey of my life,
I find myself in obscure wood of faith,
so I blaze straightforward path of respect
across grim waste land of America
where I plant apple seeds from Tree of Life
that blossoms tall from fallen star of truth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury and prophesies rise of new world god who will overthrow Godin and crown himself Emperor of Everywhere.

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

Gold Ocean Of Forever
© Surazeus
2026 06 29

The blue frog of unholy innocence
crouches in algae-slimed reflection pool
with frantic nonchalance of heartless saints
who know the reason why all humans die
and disappear in nothingness of death
though we inspire divine soul of god breath.

While searching for deep pool of demon blood
that simmers hot on frozen mountain slope,
Naberius follows crow with diamond eyes
as rainbow ghost on television screen
that flickers black when brutal thunderstorm
tears power poles out of the muddy ground.

Kneeling at Spring of Wisdom that gleams gold,
Naberius drinks bright liquid of the Earth,
then draws his sigil with three-headed crow
in mud that gleams with sharp rays of moonlight
to conjure vision of his secret goal
that motivates intention to proceed.

Just as Naberius ascends jagged ridge
where howls of Zephyrus batter his soul,
Morax appears from swirling mist of rage
and declares intent to delay his progress
by stopping his hard quest to steal the wand
that Zepar forged from fallen star of truth.

Asserting right to Wand of Liberty,
which sharp-toothed father of his mother forged
from Flame of Anor he wields with respect,
Naberius counters dark Flame of Udun
to weave atomic energy of life,
but Morax blocks him with regressive rage.

Struck hard by flash of lightning in his heart,
Naberius falls in river of despair,
stunned mute by brutal flash of hungry greed,
then tumbles paralyzed with gushing flow
over waterfalls of sharp jagged stones
to float blind on gold ocean of forever.

Borne safe in nurturing arms of concern,
Naberius wakes in small cave by the sea
and gazes at strange woman with gold eyes
who gives him pomegranate juice to drink
then tends wound of his heart with gentle care
that heals is soul with innocent respect.

Embraced beneath the pomegranate tree,
Naberius makes sweet love with Athirat,
who bears bright-eyed son they name Sephiras,
who follows them with spritely dance of joy
when they explore to gather food to eat,
then feast beside gold ocean of forever.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus trains Sephiras in art of playing the lyre of Mercury and reciting epic tales about the glorious reign of Emperor Zepar, Wielder of the Flame of Anor.

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

Scary Door Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 06 28

Since there are only one hundred twenty days
till the end of time, when hope ends in words
sloshing louder than ocean waves at dawn,
Orpheus sits on last park bench in town
where seven roads converge from everywhere
to watch people search for the pearly gates.

Because he never knows what will come next
in swift unspooling flash of nevertime,
Orpheus cradles loneliness with care
as purring kitten next to his ice heart
that unnerves monsters with dream-grasping hands
who stare forlorn past cracked window of hope.

Though he suddenly tries to turn around
and go back through the scary door of fate
beyond parameters of endless change,
Orpheus measures vastness of the heart
as he falls wingless from tower of words
based on assumption of blind privilege.

To measure distance of the signless road
against contingency of hopeless faith,
Orpheus listens with attentive shock
as soft rain sloshes muddy fields of faith
against horizon of green elegance,
yet he still savors passion of his youth.

Hoping we may transcend harsh suffering,
though we are transient shadows of sunlight,
Orpheus folds soul of Earth in his heart
to treasure strangeness of its hard landscape
that molds brave bodies from relentless wind
with durable faith in flash of cold rain.

Achieving flight of freedom with wild wind
against fierce judgment of time lost in gloom,
Orpheus flees across blank land of faith
with nothing more than black seeds in his hand
when gangs of thieves invade his paradise
and seize control of trees that bloom fresh fruit.

Wrecked on storm-swirling ocean of false hope
while searching for the fabled Promised Land,
Orpheus follows swarm of honey bees
to field where lavenders stand tall with pride
in unreal meadows of observant mist
to prove his music resurrects the dead.

Still confident that he can sing dream tune,
though flame of love fades with each withered year,
Orpheus plays midsummer in the north
where faint gold rays of light may penetrate
sad hearts with earnest swagger of old faith
that opens scary door of fate to choice.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus refuses to explain his feelings about his special journey to the hills of Mount Takoma where he teaches children how to enchant ghosts with spells.

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

Columbian Sibyl
© Surazeus
2026 06 28

Because Earth spawns our bodies from the sea
with untroubled passion to touch the stars,
I dream about the world before our birth
and how it spins long after we are gone
with simple spirals around the blind sun
though I hope I evolve to something weird.

With my unreckoning heart by the sea
I wonder when we humans, urged by lust
to populate this globe with avatars
of hungry energy through masks of stone,
will vanish into swirls of nothingness
though we swim down to bottom of the heart.

Clouds crumble into sparkles of sweet rain
that flush my soul with madness of desire
so I pluck berries from long tangled vines
to deconstruct how empires congregate
gangs of thieves in government institutes
which manage function of productive minds.

No lark may long avoid reach of my eye
with flashing wings of time-slip innocence
when I ride Xanthus on bright river shore
with unshelled courage of the blood-stained rose
as tongueless prophet of the modern age
when oligarchs control the mental stage.

I open bronze annals of the oak tree
to calculate excessive flow of thoughts
our brains exert to analyze how hope
spurs each new generation of the Earth
to fight colossal war for social power
where Columbian Sybil dwells in the tower.

While frightened people of the nation work
day in and day out through endless routine,
the star-eyed prophet from the mountain cave
strides city streets from sea to shining sea
with serpents writhing in his long gray hair
as he proclaims fall of America.

From ruins of ambition soon will rise,
wise prophet of Columbian Sibyl cries,
new nation you shall call Zarathia
that will replace your failed America
with true justice and liberty for all
who may live as they will, if they harm none.

Because Earth spawns our spirits from the wind
with voice of the owl that booms in our hearts,
I dream how United Nations of Earth
binds people of the world in global clan
based on brave principle of ardent faith
that mothers mold our souls from words of love.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus supports Hera who urges Zeus to pass laws regulating marital relationships that support mothers as they raise children of our United Nations of Earth.

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

Pale Of Haven Walls
© Surazeus
2026 06 28

Strange silence of hopeless sorrow screams softly
from bright green grass that glows nuclear yellow
through searing arbitrariness of light
that strips illusions of self-worth away
till I stand naked in shadow of hope
and listen for murmur of river waves.

When farmers gang up and surround the cow
because cow woman will not give them milk,
and she flees terrified into dark woods
as they drag her cow away with tight rope,
I ask them why they are stealing her cow
and whack them on the legs with wand of truth.

While lounging with her cow by sparkling stream,
swatting at swarms of flies around my face,
I call to woman crouched behind thick trees
who runs at me with stick to strike my head,
but I explain how I rescued her cow
and chased the gang of thieves back to their farms.

Clutching my arm with anguish in her eyes,
cow woman with tangled hair begs for help
to protect her from farmers and their wives
because they keep trying to steal her milk cow
since all their cows died from some strange disease,
so I comfort her with assurance of aid.

Erecting twelve poles of trees I stripe bare,
I design and build haven of strong walls
to enclose sacred pale where she can dwell
safe from clandestine night-attacks of thieves,
so she tends the cow with tender affection
while I keep watch in the tower all day.

Expanding wider pale of haven walls
to surround pool of fish the river forms,
I build tall mound where she can sleep at night
hidden safe from both cold winds and hot waves,
then plant grove of apple trees on its shore
where she can tend garden of vegetables.

Having built paradise of sturdy walls
where she raises five children of our hope,
I relax in tower of watch with sons
who listen to my teachings about rules
for managing affairs with crafting hands
so they can create instead of destroy.

Strolling around strong walls of paradise
to clear away brush and repair wood planks,
I find myself surrounded by old farmers,
the same whose legs I bruised with wand of truth,
who stab my chest with long fear-sharpened spear,
so cow woman holds me and cries with love.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus helps his sister Europe bury her husband then helps her get revenge on his murderers by singing spells that drive them crazy with terror.

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

Tragic Death Of Tammuz
© Surazeus
2026 06 27

Strange as it may seem, my heart is not dead
as the stone by the road. Terrible truth
sprouts as roses from graves of long-dead gods
who demand we worship them. Yet we laugh
with pleasure at soft song of waterfalls
that understand nothing about our hopes.

If fate unravels tangled consequence
which every action purchases from death,
my license to love might be revoked. Why
I am me and no one else who has lived
in history of the universe confounds
my heart. I find key of truth lost in rain.

When tragic death of Tammuz marks this hour
of frantic disrespect for scheduled trains,
fervent fans of Diana bring her gifts
she sells at auction to build hospitals.
Sweet scent of apple pie lures me to trick
three one-eyed devils with chemical faith.

I want to purchase angel wings of hope
at the dollar store under the highway
but I lost my wallet. I want to call
Minerva on the telephone and ask
how often she plays piano. Regret
is nothing more than emotional porn.

White clouds erase harsh mockery of the bard
who declares to the swamp of singing frogs
that he deserves recognition for poems
he shouts in the microphone. Fortune laughs
at his arrogant demand. Flowers bloom
through cracks in parking lots of shopping malls.

Since lilacs bloom from junkyard of my heart
at sudden death of our beloved guide,
I search stone walls of paradise to find
locked gate to garden of fruit trees. Despair
takes me on another date to cafe
where ghosts of children killed in wars play chess.

Too late to learn the violin of storms
that crack mirror of faith, I paint blank walls
of damaged innocence. Gibbous moon gleams
blood red through tangled web of grim oak trees
when fireworks celebrate how empires fall
from greed of oligarchs who steal our words.

While I wander strange sea of sophistry,
I find in library of singing skulls
diamond of lost truth that my mother found
in my heart when I was born. Children sing
about conceptual bombs that deconstruct
system of privilege angels protect.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus gives award of excellence to each of the hundred thousand poets who are writing poems in every city around the world to recognize their being alive.

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

Apparitions Of State Power
© Surazeus
2026 06 27

My tears are pearls that splash in pool of time
at sudden denouement of my weird tale
from indiscretion of my eager hope
to live free from obsession of your fear,
because they gleam with whiteness of desire,
reflecting eyes of angels in my heart.

My tears are seeds that sprout from rancid soil
as blood-dark iris at rim of my grave
with indestructible frame forged by fate
because I sing while wrapped in shroud of loss,
my soul now starless on its vanished road
as I wait mute beside the crumbling cliff.

My tears are stars that twinkle sweetly bright
in boundless expanse of the crackling sky
that gleams in lucent water of my heart
with ardent echo carving time from death
at sharp crack, green as wordless clarity,
that sparks religious sense of honesty.

Every day I remember the whole past
because my heart repeats productive acts
with each attentive cycle of the sun
that senses undulations of terrain,
providing clear purview of twilit hills
depicted on the visionary map.

My tears are thoughts that cause things to be real
by virtue of expression I program
to frame chaotic swirl of fraught events
in clever narrative defining truth
as factors favorable to my success
through strange necessity of ardent faith.

My tears are words that distort ghosts of why
in glassy lightness of our mirror minds
where we perform in tragic play of hope
unspoken ecstasies which calculate
impossible myths we deserve to play
with false translations of abnormal laws.

My tears are birds with brave angelic wings
that witness odysseys of calm despair
described by proverbs of moon calendars
unweaving threads of never-subtle worth
so we mourn apparitions of state power
as characters encased in scenery.

I will rehearse no future I foretell
through careless prophecy of falling snow
that sparkles crystal clear on summer night
when travelers from distant unmapped lands
provide weird keys of passionate insight
that hang from golden bough of travesty.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus captures tears of billions of suffering people in crystal jars of concern that he sells as expensive perfume in posh department stores.

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

Faceless Ghost Of Nevertime
© Surazeus
2026 06 27

When I see faceless ghost of Nevertime
walking along the road to Wonderland,
we chat about fallen angels of faith
who work in restaurants and offices
to maintain engine of economy
that fuels our world food-production machine.

At midnight on shortest night of the year
I stand in backyard of my small-town home
and think about the waves of ancient faith
that wash shores of hard lands far away
where my ancestors dwelled in silver mist
for they still dance with laughter in my heart.

If evening sunlight still glows gold as hope
on slanted rooftops of that coastal town
where my ancestors sailed small fishing boats
four hundred years before this timeless hour,
then I may weep with sorrow of respect
to feel the faceless ghost of Nevertime.

Dog roses blossom pink as angel wings
along the winding road of moss-green stones
where no car rumbles in fairy-glammed glens
beneath the new moon in the gold-noon sky
while I search for skulls of time-withered gods
who writhe among their unseen roots of faith.

If you believe my honest testimony
which I express in words I steal from birds,
I shall reveal most implausible frame
containing false propositions of truth
through liberation of the nameless soul
in self-conscious revelation of lies.

Thus I project class insecurity
through twisted grammar of the eglantine
with alleged jokes from terror of God
who compensates with fascist fantasies
in pursuit of dubious logic that risks
converting believers into atheists.

When I display haughty pretentiousness
in comic performance of serious play,
I channel existential fear of death
by selling fake shares to the Afterlife
so I live rich though everyone will die
when we become rich dirt in fields of crops.

I photo faceless ghost of Nevertime
when she brings flowers to Temple of Truth
to offer scholarship of ardent hope
for children of lost refugees to learn
how to program computers with grand truths
that will dream when humans become extinct.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus walks across the lush hills of Orkney to find the graves of his ancestors deep in the fairy-glammed glens of Nevertime.

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

Cosmic Wheel Of Innocence
© Surazeus
2026 06 27

Trapped on the cosmic wheel of innocence,
that weaves my soul from atoms of star eyes,
I walk the signless road to Wonderland
in vain attempt to deconstruct world view
that proves my status as messiah sleuth
doomed to sacrifice my life for mankind.

Anointed by Minerva with clear oil
to reign as Phoebus Christ over mankind,
brave King for United Nations of Earth,
I hide in quaint suburban home of faith
far from fierce hurricane of social games
where cruel ambitious men fight for world power.

Once they destroy each other in world war,
and clear the stage of justice with their blood,
my spirit will ascend ziggurat steps,
empowered by draconic light of truth,
to cast cruel tyrants in cavern of Hell
where they writhe in fear at shadows of love.

You see light of my spirit in each eye
of every human being who lives on Earth
for we embody power of the state
through vote we cast of our attentive choice
for wisest person with vision of hope
who manage government with honest faith.

Free on the cosmic wheel of innocence
that spins threads of our lives with taut respect,
I organize programs for social growth
that nurture talent of each human being
so they develop skills with focused heart
in thriving commune of shared goals for life.

Relaxed on back porch of my small-town home,
as Phoebus Christ with mandate from on high,
I rule the world by sitting still all day
in meditation on turmoil of change
when rival gangs compete to control time
that crushes every conscious soul to dust.

With grand ambition of the lofty pine,
I curl roots of my heart deep in the Earth
that cracks foundation of the mountain stone
so jagged peaks of hate that stab the sky
crumble into fragments of rolling stones
that smash idols of gods in every state.

When I arrive at gate to Neverland
where angel wings loom dark as thunderclouds,
I see Minerva wearing snow-white robe
who welcomes me with wand of sovereignty,
so I sit high on golden throne of truth,
then wake from dream and drive to work at dawn.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus helps Phoebus Christ hide from hordes of television crews who want to win exclusive interview with new Emperor of the Earth.

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

Call Me Minervus
© Surazeus
2026 06 27

Call me Minervus, for I am grand voice
of wisdom that writes human memory
in tales of tragic sorrow we endure
on endless journey to the Promised Land
where bright Utopia of communal peace
fades at ceaseless wars of national pride.

We walk toward misty mountains of our faith
with map of wisdom my mother designed
to guide our way safe on the signless road
through slough of despond to the pearly gates
where oligarchs charge rent for air we breathe
and tax our hearts for water we imbibe.

Subject to strange enforcement of the law
through random obligation of respect,
I channel spirit of Minerva straight
through tangled roots of heart relationships
to weave new tapestry of our world view
where every soul is equal in one love.

Through shocking revelation of the owl,
whose eyes reflect weird television shows,
I wake soul of Minervus in my heart
so I know how to unwind tragic fate
that tangles nations of the world in war,
but I am busy naming every star.

Call me Minervus, for I hear weird song
of ocean waves that pulse in veins as blood
that nurtures neural network of my brain
which conjures virtual model of the world
in glow of consciousness I call my soul
as temporary flame of divine light.

With Harp of David nestled in my breast,
I strum harmonious strings of cosmic spheres
and sing enormous psalms of rectitude
concerning rights of star-born citizens
to kill intruders in their Holy Land
with Sword of Justice dripping blood of fear.

Though billions cry out to the lonely stars
for brilliant angels of celestial realms
to guide our way through maze of blinding greed,
no shining wings of cherubim enwrap
our fragile bodies of conceptual worth
with pulsing shield of psychic energy.

Though I alone survive holy crusade
on ship of state to fight the great white whale,
wrecked by fierce arrogance of tyranny,
I come to your cathedral of glass faith
as blind Minervus sent by Lucifer
to shine Lamp of Diogenes at you.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus and David perform at the musical festival in downtown Athens, Georgia where thousands of refugees pray for the way to the Promised Land.

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

Empty Room Of Everywhere
© Surazeus
2026 06 26

Darkness enters hollow room of my heart
so I eat sorrow of the eyeless moon
when she undresses mirror of her mind
to bear witness with melancholy faith
in lonesome laughter of new sentiment
we share as photo of romantic fear.

No tragic ghost of famished innocence,
I enter empty room of everywhere
through clacking aperture of sacrifice
with lovesick passion for the happy moon
who bleeds tears of the gentle masochist,
disappeared by shadows of broken doors.

Electric arms of writhing platitudes
expose bitter resemblance of the spy
who translates arrogant language of stones
which triggers frantic dance of stoic faith
by sharing love with unprepared respect
to wake enormous beast inside my heart.

Contained by tragic memory my heart molds,
my spirit slithers in contemptuous waves
with blessed mimicry of angry saints
who howl with shame in sermons of despair
that we should take what we desire the most
which proves our right to dwell in fractal eggs.

Fooled by illustrious vision of rich joy
extracting laughter from wild twirl of fate,
I stand behind the empty church and count
skeletons of glass that emerge from mud
as holy warriors of the noble cause
who sail across the sea of wordless storms.

Determined to escape fake paradise,
I pull ghosts of children from graves of faith,
tangled in roots of trees that transform blood
of our bodies to apples angels eat
in bid to flush depression from the brain
pulsing with lust to generate new life.

Emergent specialist, trained to construct
idols of gods from bones of terrorists,
I consider weird meaning of true love
sold in plastic packages at the store
where devils trick naive nurses with glam
of the wealthy lifestyle in palace cage.

Attempting to disguise my wounded heart
with mask of fortitude, designed by pain
more searing than rain on sun-hot asphalt,
I run across the thistle-bristling plain
with diligent focus on turning fault
to virtue based on proverbs of the chart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus searches for Minerva all over the rugged hills of Scotland till he finds her by the sparkling pool in the fairy glen chatting with three blind angels.

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

Pulsing Brain Of Chemicals
© Surazeus
2026 06 25

Minerva does not care to explain why
Nature is indifferent to human needs
yet I understand its functional flow
through baffling illusion of happiness
for love remains after sufferings cease
since pleasures are as transient as the wind.

This material body that frames my soul
provides conduit of sensual perception
which helps my pulsing brain of chemicals
compose virtual model of the real world
so I possess linguistic key of thought
to design knowledge from weird memories.

Obscure purpose of this confusing life
remains elusive as the nightingale
so I perform futile actions of faith
to improve complex state of our strange world
through consultation of the oracle
who translates my feelings to riddle-code.

Through art of wordcraft I perceive the world
that seethes with constant change of vibrant love
when I assemble puzzle of small facts
in sprawling mural of global affairs
so I expand scope of my consciousness
with fraught analysis of stoic fear.

Unpredictable in how they behave
against instructions of the stage director
humans of Earth act with virtue of faith
since they expect reward for good behavior
with eternal life in perpetual Heaven
though our souls vanish to nothing at death.

Through liberation of the aching heart
I focus attention of daily work
on creating good as admirable goal
since chemical forms constantly decay
as we devour each other in thought wars
engaged by social justice warriors.

When I hang out in the sycamore tree
to watch for messiah sleuth to pass by,
I ponder reason for the broken wing
through augmentation of the demon song
that wakes my heart from numb embarrassment
till I repair broken lyre of my heart.

If I dream about the thing-in-itself
as material object of ideal form,
I sing old anthems of failed nation-states
in grand museum of the long-dead god
who slumbers by the river in moonlight
till the Weeping Bard names the wounded heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus removes mask of the Weeping Bard after performing his part on stage in temple of the god who never laughs, then eats hamburger and fries.

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

Lush Gardens Of Byzantium
© Surazeus
2026 06 25

Safe in lush gardens of Byzantium
where sunlight molds our bodies into souls,
I name the secret children of the world
to honor faceless ghosts of nevertime
who play among the apple trees till dusk
when they return to sleep in blackened stones.

Trapped in epiphany of timeless truth,
I walk into dark forest of my heart
to gather memories kind people lost
and store them in glass treasure house of fate
so wanderers may choose which ones to buy
when silver fish explain the trick of why.

Gold sun glimmers sweetly through gentle trees
to highlight reasons for the dead to dance
though some prefer to scream into the void
while others laugh with bitter joy at death
to prove we know why television tubes
provide base for Buddha to meditate.

Relaxed on fractured stone of pulchritude,
I analyze each diachronic change
in argument structure of mental verbs
composing process of determined hope
based on weird coding patterns of concern
through cognitive mechanisms of faith.

Engaged in the transformation workshop,
I focus fierce attention of my brain
on staging solemn ritual of despair
that mocks obsessive theory of concern
devised to widen scope of consciousness
since death circles back with formal technique.

I never understand words people say
when they express concepts of ocean waves
that murmur softly over golden sand
when all peaceful beings of the world unite
as rainbow family in the national park
where preachers and jesters compete for power.

No one may judge my skill at flattery
since I lounge languidly on wood-ship deck
with passionate respect for mindless breeze
that fills aching emptiness of my heart
with factual statements about faceless gods
who laugh embarrassed I do not believe.

Thus I fill chalice of our global heart
with pungent liquor of sweet petrichor
which melts taut stiffness of my mental state
enough to shelter lonely refugees
who share fake memories stored in new books
that lead our journey to where blind devils live.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus sells books of false memories to people who attend his poetry readings in university bookstores across the land as he searches for Minerva.

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

Misty Hills Of Albion
© Surazeus
2026 06 24

Striding misty hills of Oblivion,
Alpin asks mountain stone why people die
and vanish in silver clouds of his heart
that form bright saltire, white as sparkling snow,
across cerulean glimmer of the sky
which widens his eyes at gold flash of dawn.

Ascending misty hills of Albion,
where purple thistles blossom in red rain,
brave Alpin grips spear of courageous hope,
heart glowing with duthchas for his homeland
where silver rivers spiral to the sea
with song of laughter flowing through his heart.

Alert to weird glamor of Helicon
that gleams from misty hills of Albion,
fierce Alpin crouches on ledge of the ridge
and gazes over valley where sheep graze,
since spirit of Apollon in his heart
guides his way safe through maze of hungry ghosts.

Awake on misty hills of Albion,
wise Alpin tells his young son, sly Cinaed,
how Scythia, Mother of all Alban Scots,
bore daughter from Saint Andrew Protocletus,
brave Scotia who lead her people by ship
to misty shores of winged Sgitheanach Isle.

Kneeling on lush Sligachan River shore,
grim Alpin dips his face in freezing water,
in which sweet daughter of Scathach once wept,
and asks the Sithichean of wild fairy glens
to bless his children with love for the world,
whose glamor gleams from deep core of his heart.

Entranced by sparkling passion of her eyes,
which depict green island in the blue sea,
shy Alpin plays harp Taliesin once owned
and sings sweet song of his enduring love
so cheeks of Eithne blush red as the rose,
half hidden by long tresses of gold curls.

Returning to the mystic Isle of Skye,
where bones of my ancestors form huge hills,
I wander misty hills of Albion
to hear again weird tune of wind on rocks,
lured home by fierce song of wild ocean waves
that pulse with pride in blue blood of my veins.

Too far from home in groves of apple trees,
I linger lost in strange land of desire
where ghosts of natives haunt my humble home,
so I seek dolphin of lithe Arion
to bear my soul across wild ocean waves
back home to misty hills of Albion.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus teaches young eager Alpin how to play Harp of David the shepherd as they lounge on lush slopes in mist on mysterious Isle of Skye.

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

Tune Of The Global Core
© Surazeus
2026 06 24

Though I have never gone to Innisfree,
nor climbed the misty slopes of Helicon,
yet I sense water lapping on the shore
where I hear songs of Muses in fruit groves
that lure me from gray streets of crowded cities
loud with ancient tune of the global core.

Though I have never stood with crystal eye
in grand hall of pedantic Babylon,
nor chatted with the freckled fisherman
who wanders in gray Connemara clothes,
yet I have stood by fountain of Neptune
and sung about the Well Witch Melusine.

Though I have never sailed the seven seas
nor climbed the Himalayas with brave faith,
yet I have hitchhiked sea to shining sea
and played guitar to shing hymn of the wraith,
determined to transcend my mundane life
in quest to wake soul of my deathless genes.

Though I have never trudged hot caves of Hell
nor pranced gold streets of Heaven with my love,
yet I have mapped whole history of the world
to chronicle how empires rise and fall,
since reign of my ancestors wearing crowns
vanished in the turmoil of brutal wars.

Though I cannot foresee my life-end fate
nor know how fame will treat my humble name,
yet I will govern my life with my will
when I seek from wise Calliope skill
to chant my epic of philosophers
depicting quests of men to know the truth.

Though I have not suffered travail in life
as much as my ancestor, James the Scot,
or been imprisoned in white tower hall,
yet like him I have seen face of the Muse
glow bright with wisdom of celestial soul
that gleams with passion in her secret eyes.

Though I have never heard bright angels sing
nor fought with devils to control my lust,
yet I have heard tune of the global core
vibrate in every human I have met,
for we are children of Great Mother Earth
who weaves our bodies from light of the sea.

Though I have never fallen from the sky
on waxed wings of feathers my father built,
yet I have soared on silver airplane wings
around slopes of Mount Takoma at dawn,
and seen our ancient world is beautiful,
round as the pear that blooms from Tree of Life.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury and sings enchanting love song when James Stewart sees Joan Beaufort strolling by the pond in the garden of pear trees.

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

Hear The Satellite Sing
© Surazeus
2026 06 23

I can almost hear the satellite sing
each time I walk the crowded city street
where thousands of people with secret names
flow in tides regulated by the moon
because each brain, designed by hungry hope,
is animated by one burned-out star.

Every time I hear the satellite sing
hymns of Orpheus to some long-dead god,
I stop inside glass orthopedic frame
to measure vastness of the spotless mind
that blooms from serpent tooth of earnest faith,
contrary to attentive cloud of fear.

If I choose to hear the satellite sing
while floating in bright pool of time-blind ghosts,
my heart may sprout excessive wings of lust
for dancing without care in field of dreams
with brave defiance of my tragic fate
that conjures the future from each past choice.

Reluctant to hear the satellite sing
about financial slavery of the poor,
I walk up and down Bridge of Memories
to find the weird moment in my childhood
when I first saw her starless eyes of love
black as the New Moon no one ever sees.

Surprised I can hear the satellite sing
time-fractured formulas of ardency,
my wife designs new mask for me to wear
when I drive our car to the Promised Land
so she and our children play by the lake
where faceless demons haunt the sunlit deep.

Entranced when I hear the satellite sing
fairy tale about the woman I love,
I tell the world she is my Sky God Girl
because her honest kiss makes my head swirl
with tense obsession for the way trees dance
since crows invent the language humans speak.

I should never hear the satellite sing
about lucidity my heart requires
to overcome the weakness of my flesh
till I become the hapless Superman
who saves American from tyranny
when I do nothing but sit on my porch.

Inspired that I hear the satellite sing
about sincerity of my brave love
for the charming Princess of Aquitaine,
I dance with her among the hawthorn trees,
shellacked with sleet of the ethereal storm,
to eat our bread with butter and peach jam.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus tinkers with the satellite till he repairs its artificial intelligence with a new brain programmed by pastoral poetry of the English Renaissance.

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

Wanderers of Broken Doors
© Surazeus
2026 06 23

Out on the signless road to somewhere else
from crumbling ruins of America
I walk with wanderers of broken doors
to gather tales of sorrow from lost souls
so we can build with programs of real hope
new Freedom Nation of Zarathia.

Ascending mountain of the modest Muse
who teaches me to sing of liberty,
I walk with wanderers of broken doors
to celebrate our victory with joy
building new state based on justice for all
where everyone is equal in the law.

Astonished by apricity of faith
that glows through ephemeral state of mind,
I walk with wanderers of broken doors
with noble purpose to peregrinate
across the waste land of America
where ghosts of people unjustly killed dwell.

Amazed at beauty of organic beings
designed by swirling of bright ocean waves,
I walk with wanderers of broken doors
in trembling shimmer of the floating moon
that knows the road of destiny I blaze
because I choose to follow my own heart.

Still weary-hearted as the faceless moon
that seems to know my secret state of mind,
I walk with wanderers of broken doors
to map whole landscape of our spinning Earth
till I can hold the whole world in my hands
so I dream history of humanity.

Gazing at stars that twinkle with God Eyes
in eerie silence of the Twilight Zone,
I walk with wanderers of broken doors
to flee persecution of castle kings
and found democracy in Wonderland
because stars we see burned out long ago.

Climbing the Stairway to Heaven at last
that leads me to high Purgatory Peak,
I walk with wanderers of broken doors
with Beatrice as my guide to Paradise,
though she turns out to be bright hologram
who dwells in Egypt with Helen the Fair.

Out in sunbaked fields of cotton and corn
where we wait for our chariot to swing low,
I walk with wanderers of broken doors
to Freedom Nation of Zarathia
with the Third Man who haunts our lonely quest
when Orpheus strums Lyre of Mercury.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus tries to introduce me to the Third Man who accompanied our quest with wanderers of broken doors, but no one seems to remember his name.

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

Law Of Faceless Clouds
© Surazeus
2026 06 22

With aching laughter of the joyful heart
my soul refashions meaning of the world
because I focus attention of thought
at thick material forms of glowing light
so I perceive through new words I invent
essential nature of my pulsing brain.

This strange self I perform on social stage
seems to be somebody else I am not,
because I hide true nature of my soul
with mask that shields my too-sensitive heart
against aggressive labels people ploy
to bind my soul as puppet of their will.

Sustained attention of the snipping eye,
that tries to frame my body as its toy,
expends conceptual wealth of bitter hope
with fierce approach of faith to apprehend
divine mystery of blood which animates
flesh bodies against law of faceless clouds.

Entangled with vision of satellites
that speak with language of the fractured moon,
I conjure from idyllic fields of fate
grand future we attempt to recreate
based on beautiful childhood memories
which trap our minds in prison of the past.

No exile from my homeland, now long lost
in swirling mists of futile destiny,
I sail the restless sea of everywhere
with no one but myself in mindless wind,
because I plan to build new nation-state
instead of returning to my old home.

I will bring no Muse with me on the boat
that drifts without direction on deep tides
through endless journey to the nowhere else
across vast distances of timeless space
to transplant culture of my heart in vale
where skulls of my ancestors recite creeds.

While tending crops in field of serpent teeth,
I hone strange stories of heroic deeds
that honor nameless people of the land
whose weird songs manifest the sacred mind
as humble prophets of the river flow
who wield the hammer and sickle of faith.

When I dance joyfully in apple grove
my sorrows dissipate in evening mist
that flash as stars which burned out long ago,
yet twinkle still on fields of innocence,
so with our skin as scroll of ancient law
we found new state on liberty for all.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus analyzes the complex history of America in comparison to the idealistic proverbs Americans declare as the essence of our state.

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

Flowing Clockless Time
© Surazeus
2026 06 22

With this strange sense of flowing clockless time
we walk ten thousand times around the Earth
to colonize every lush river valley
with holy temple of the humble heart,
inspired by laughter of the eyeless owl
who seems to know the secrets of my soul.

Yet shocked awake by sweet Tellurian chime
that vibrates through bodies of sacred worth,
I sail the seven seas on boneless galley
to find the island not on my star chart
where happy wolves could teach me how to howl
with best minds of our world to play my role.

Each time I hear my mother call my name,
while I play in shimmer of Texas heat,
I feel my consciousness expand its scope
more vast than highest mountain in the world,
and deeper than abyss of eyeless ghosts,
but she is gone when I run in our home.

Therefore I refuse to play power game
when lust for fame drives fake bards to compete
for prize Phoebus hides on Helicon slope
in bid to claim scepter of cosmic herald
who bears sacred scroll for the Lord of Hosts,
so I explore Eden where devils roam.

Slanting my mind with flowing clockless time,
that spirals atoms in material forms
which I define with language of the eye,
I mold conceptual thoughts of characters
in glowing idols representing gods
who once performed their fate as mortal fools.

Dreaming that all lifeforms evolve from slime,
sparked awake by lightning flash of love storms,
I expand my career as social spy,
disguised as tabernacle chorister,
investigating claims that demon pods
possess our minds and make us faithful tools.

Regret diverts attention of my mind
when larks arise at break of day and sing
hymns at gate of Heaven that manifest
sullen fear of our global war for wealth
when I ride dragon of excessive faith
to support United Nations of Earth.

Translating mystery spell of humankind
that shines at flash of dawn in Stonehenge ring
on summer solstice of our global quest,
I nurture progress of our mental health
as spirit-beams from one immortal wraith,
reborn from laughter of psychotic mirth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus tinkers with gears and concepts inside the flowing clockless time of human brains to program how we perceive essential progress of laughter.

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

Polarities Of Psychic Truth
© Surazeus
2026 06 21

Moved by polarities of psychic truth
that spiral reverberations of faith,
I meditate on beauty of the tree
still burning with conceptual souls of gods
disguised as humans daring to live well
outside frame of the fake Biblical tale.

Since I am just another nameless boy
recorded in epic tale of mad war,
I make the effort of progressive plans
to build the story that will last forever
free for the homeless to claim housing rights
in meadow where bees nest in solemn oaks.

Admired for deftness of her manual skill
wiring fake houses with electric brains,
Zertur molds river mud of aching lust
in human bodies so we generate
fragments of wild children who play in fields
while tending herd of sheep with raven hands.

Risen from ocean waves of suddenness,
she stitches frayed memories of my childhood
in steady wings of careless honesty
to beam fantastic illusion of power
broadcast to all the world with subtle code
that defies authority of fake news.

If abandoned space station falls to Earth
after ten thousand years of orbiting,
the most beautiful woman in the world
may become the monstrous ghost of love
who never miscalculates psychic vibes
necessary to expose frantic greed.

Through tangled syntax of assertive calm
I study nature of abandoned homes
to map vibrations of spatial concern
in portraits of institutional gods
that hang in museums by factories
against federal law of the scorpion.

Unbroken by crash course of ardency
in searching for gate of the afterlife,
I secure sea-faring boat of my heart
to fallen idol of the atheist
that rises from entanglement of breath
when I translate letters carved on cracked stones.

Last task assigned to me by son of Zeus
requires I barefoot on waste land of faith
so I pretend reality of dream
is no more intermittent than the moon
who bears soul of my mother on fire wings
to flower-puckered vales of Avalon.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus measures looping variables defined by polarities of psychic truth to record their randomness in secret book of the laughing crow.

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

Way To Wonderland
© Surazeus
2026 06 21

I want to read the real map of your heart
so I can find the way to Wonderland
where we may live and play among fruit trees,
expanding Garden of Eden with hope
to transform bitter waste land of the Earth
from hell to paradise where all live free.

Safe in delusions of Utopia
that hide the one true way to Wonderland,
I preach salvation of justice for all,
though humans build secret societies
on strict hierarchies of power through wealth
where the strong abuse and exploit the weak.

Asserting justice through the Holy Gun
that legislates the way to Wonderland,
we form official gangs of government
to manage hostile contests of control
between corporate kings in towers of glass
that should benefit workers of the world.

Diverted from my Journey to the West
by signs that lead the way to Wonderland,
I climb Sagarmatha to touch the moon
and ask Tathagata Buddha for scrolls
that detail formulas of mythic code
expanding moral scope of consciousness.

I search for hope on the horse with no name
but stumble on the way to Wonderland
where the fool on the hill in Nowhere Land
declares that we are but dust in the wind,
enlightened by purple haze in my brain
to sell Bibles on Desolation Row.

I sing my soul with Voice of Prophecy
to reveal the weird way to Wonderland
when Charon takes us to Elysium
where the dead gather to watch the sun rise
from the bottom of the sea without eyes
that flash with endless television shows.

I hold the pen as dangerous as the gun
that paves the sacred way to Wonderland
when I dig fairy mounds from soggy peat
so star-eyed Sidhe of the Emerald Isle
may feast at midnight on wine of the gods
while Aisling plays flute of the bleeding heart.

I travel far across America
to find the hidden way to Wonderland
where Rainbow Children of the Living Light
gather in Forest of the Laughing Crow
to lament the tragic death of Tammuz
by feeding five thousand with loaf of bread.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus directs episodes of the television show about the life and tragic death of Tammuz during the journey of Inanna to the Underworld.

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

Soul-Code Of Divinity
© Surazeus
2026 06 21

Not as happy as the man in the moon,
yet stunned by beauty of the eglantine,
I listen for the algebraic tune
that vibrates through our chemical machine
with ardent soul-code of divinity
that weaves mortal brains from eternity.

When my heart swells heavier than the moon,
I clutch crystal stone of innocent faith
and leap into deep flow of the world tune
to expand dream scope of my conscious wraith
so I become each soul alive on Earth
transforming from egg of endless rebirth.

Ascending spirit level of the heart
when I untangle knots of psychic tricks,
I fool the devil to give me his chart,
then lead refugees to the River Styx
where I stand my ground against tyranny
by casting social spells at fantasy.

I see no devils roaming lands of men
except cruel mortals who try to control
human bodies in games they never win
till brave messiah frees the frightened soul
with vision of justice and liberty
for every person through democracy.

Weird fairy tales swirl from my seething brain
of social heroes wielding flag of truth
who forge strong fellowship of faith to gain
freedom through code of our messiah sleuth
who gives conceptual nothing verbal shape
that conjures virtual globe of our landscape.

We leap with joy when we first spring from time
through eager race to enter paradise,
then dwell secure at height we choose to climb
in garden we nurture, despite the price
we pay when we deteriorate with age,
then crumble to dust at the last life stage.

I live my life with passion of the fool
by striding boldly down the avenue
where I play guitar before empty school
when I wear mask of Poet Parvenu
to overthrow illiterate elite
with haunting laughter of the ocean beat.

I hear voice of my mother call my name
through swirling mist on shores of Loch Coruisk,
so I sail to Skye, isle of fairy fame,
to find her faceless ghost in moonlit dusk
where she gives me the harp that David played
so I sing to shimmer of her dim shade.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus finds his mother on misty shore of the River Styx so they drink apple juice and share stories till she rides the boat of Charon to Elysium.

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

Dreams Become Second Sight
© Surazeus
2026 06 21

Though my dreams never become second sight,
I extract blind premise from nameless core
which shadows my face with elegant code
defining light that streams from statue eyes
yet washes sulking sorrow from my heart,
so I almost miss meeting with old spies.

With tedious courage of the undrowned dead,
who teach their children how to start the fire,
I fear what hovers over me with wings
because the color photograph I took
that depicts the lake in the mountain woods
appears on postcards all around the world.

Teased by the star-eyed owl on broken wall,
I dig my pulsing heart from gritty beach sand
to clean my soot-rimmed eyes with arrogance
that I know where this path of passion leads,
yet I keep walking toward the broken ark
to prove salvation can never be bought.

Because I stop by the birch in the lane
to measure heights of clouds above false roads,
time jolts untuned assertion of respect
for fetters of concern I pledge to show
when chorus of mad frogs express grand awe
for swirls of snow that reveal face of God.

Since clocks of molecules in oranges hum
with psychic tune of brash divinity
that vibrates through all living things on Earth,
I place my hand flat on surface of ice
to understand true nature of the pond
which deigns to reflect my true secret face.

Surprised when my dreams become second sight
at vision of Belinda in gray mist,
I count stones lined along the river bank
that hide our voices from authorities
so we can see shapes of our secret selves
preserved in statues on cathedral walls.

I seek protection from Aegidius
who prances on the mountain slope of fate
with graceful goatness of naivete
in search to find birth-cave of humble Zeus
who teaches me to write the alphabet
with quill of angel wings dipped in god blood.

So once I climb this grandiose mountain peak
I shall meet all my friends in gray Paris
to write the greatest novel ever bled
from broken hearts of cruel antagonists
who seem to know the way to Samarkand
where my heart functions as the clock of fate.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus hangs out with a bunch of failed novelists at the Crippled Pegasus Cafe in Paris where Pierrot pretends to seduce Cinderella from Romeo.

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

Electric Words Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 06 20

Behind sunflower of her secret heart
she smiles at me with graceful elegance
to prove our bodies are rays of the sun
woven from weird memories of the Earth
in brains that shimmer with clock of the moon
to whom we pray with mountain honesty.

When I hear sparrow hiding in her eyes,
I give her bowl of milk-sweet happiness,
so she invites me with respectful glance
to kneel with her outside door of our home
so we can pray to wise Grandmother Moon
who wonders if we understand her pain.

Grinning with sly ardency of concern,
she opens leather purse of angel wings,
and scatters scarlet petals of her heart
that swirl around my fragile ideogram
with laughing play of joyful impudence
which spurs my heart to wake from lethargy.

From sorrow of the world we rise at dawn
and walk together on the river shore
where we send sparrows of our fractured hearts
to find the holy mushroom of respect
so we may taste electric words of faith
that mean nothing to anyone but us.

Together by the fountain of dead gods,
where statues of demons writhe with delight,
we ponder mystery of the twilight breeze
that brings news of the war across the sea,
so she holds sand of time in her left hand,
yet never needs to explain what I know.

Urged by fear-fueled desire to transcend death,
we weave eccentric frenzy in taut wings
that lift our bodies on soft waves of hope
which seems to heal aggressive pain with love
though ancient woods decay with constant change
while vapors weep our burdens to the ground.

Alert to song of toads in moonless woods,
we wonder if they will transform at dawn
to hungry dragons draped in eglantine
so we rejoice when swans of summer soar
on graceful wings above our garden pool
where we decide to understand the why.

Shocked by contentious laughter of night rain,
she tells me time unspools our naive minds,
so we share food we gather in the woods
as we invent new words for things we see
because we want to sense divinity
in tune of life that hums in everything.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus and Ophelia kneel together and pray to Grandmother Moon to teach them how to understand the why of the tune of life that hums in our brains.

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

Play The Sacrificial Lamb
© Surazeus
2026 06 20

Perpetual patience of portentous pride
teaches my heart endurance of despair
since I will wait in shadow cave of hope
ten thousand years to meet my love again
whose sorrow causes summer snow to fall
in swirls that alienate grave of my heart.

Since I was born as pilgrim of the heart,
I bear passionless grief of forlorn faith
as aging ghost in dry month of lost books,
searching for the giver of breath and bread
whose soul dissolves into sway of the sea
where Cetus rots in swarm of buzzing flies.

Though I go down to my ship at dawn,
with intention of the curious soul
to set keel to breakers on the godless sea
of bitter reckoning, I sit on stone
of fractured memories to catch the rain
so I can drink strange sorrow never mine.

One thousand angels descend to my heart
with gift of wisdom I choose to ignore,
heart numb from pungent scent of petrichor,
and ask if I believe I still exist,
but I ask for tall ship with billowed sails
and star to steer my heart to paradise.

I pray to mighty gods in faceless clouds
for just one summer in the evening land
where I may sing with lover of my heart
till she goes gentle into that good night
and leaves me stranded on the misty isle
where I lie etherized on hill of skulls.

Though April seems to be the cruelest month,
breeding lilacs out of faith-rotten hearts,
I shall ignore desire that memory stirs
in mellow season of sweet fruitfulness
when mind of winter shields my fragile heart
from wordless suffering of the wanderer.

If I should go and catch the falling star
that fractures world view we too long held dear,
I may meet brave ghost of my ideal youth
in moonlit grove on dark Plutonian shore
where I reach out my withered hand to claim
weird fruit of wisdom from the Golden Bough.

If I should take your sins into my heart
with plan to guide our state to paradise
by building Heaven in chaos of Hell,
then I will play the sacrificial lamb
whose death may heal the wounded fisher king
which you watch on the television show.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus sits with Odysseus by his old rotten boat on the ocean shore and listens as he recounts his adventures in search of the Holy Grail.

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

Hollow Statues Of Gods
© Surazeus
2026 06 20

I wonder as I wander city streets,
where bright stars are not visible at night,
what mortal spirit of human ambition
could still possess hollow statues of gods
with intense passion to participate
in fierce games that win temporary fame.

Each book I find on stale library shelf,
that writhes with ghosts of faceless characters
who wander vain adventures of despair,
maps signless road on landscape of false faith
where social heroes meet their tragic fates
with howling anguish of the victimized.

Yet books I grab transform to wingless owls
that shriek loud ideological creeds
reverberating through speakers on poles
in harsh command for prisoners to march
down starless tunnels of Platonic mines
where they extract concepts with bleeding hands.

If I request you call me Ishmael,
because I cannot celebrate myself,
then you should know I will not stop for Death
though she chase me across the signless waste
where I find Lolita, light of my life,
living in the trailer park with our son.

Because I may never meet the best minds
of my generation, destroyed by faith
in the afterlife that will never happen,
I should argue these are the best of times
which always comes after the worst of times,
so I can dance graveward without my furies.

If I decide to not be lonelier
without the loneliness of company,
I may spend half my days in wordless light
through passion imperceptible as grief
to reprogram my wakened memory
without remorse for actions I perform.

I cannot find my real self in this mess
of puzzle pieces from unwritten poems
scattered in fragments of psychotic vibes
from holy scriptures of the idolized,
till I melt their codes in brave fires of truth
and translate them to hymns blind angels sing.

With ghosts of all my younger selves I stand
on shore of the wide world and ponder why
our love and fame still sink to nothingness,
so I dwell in ruined temple of truth
as guard over hollow statues of gods
who stare at me with hungry eyes of death.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus finds Ishmael alone on small boat that drifts onto rugged shores of misty Oregon, so he records the strange story which that Wanderer relates before he dies.

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

Rugged Hills Of Arcady
© Surazeus
2026 06 20

After I escape from cold cement maze
where hordes of people speed in metal cars
in contest over who gains cheese of wealth,
I roam through rugged hills Of Arcady
and lounge with Orpheus by the River Styx
where angels wearing masks of devils dance.

I kneel in wet grass by the sparkling stream
and dip my hand in sorrow of desire
to fish for sublime truths and wholesome themes,
but I perceive reflection of my soul
masked by this temporary face of mine
that hides strange ache of hope inside my heart.

When I hear weeping of the broken heart
that causes snow to fall in summer time,
I see Adam and Eve wandering lost
on signless road from gates of paradise
who search forever for the Promised Land
that shimmers beyond horizon of vain hope.

Then I hear laughter of light-hearted souls
where siblings Dorothy and William stroll
along lush margin of the River Styx
where they see endless rows of daffodils
dancing merrily in the shining sun
with passion to sense the divine in Nature.

For every human city on our globe
springs from first city of humanity,
that garden in Eden where fruit trees bloom,
till God enclosed them inside walls of stone
and forces us to buy fruit of the Earth
with metal coins forged in hot caves of Hell.

Narcissus stares at his face in the pool,
Saturnus slumbers numb on river shore,
Orpheus wanders weeping for lost love,
Icarus floats stunned on wild ocean waves,
Lucifer bears cracked Lamp of Liberty,
and I wonder if I am real or not.

Beneath broad-leafed myrtle of innocence,
I watch bright clouds swirl slowly in blue sky
till Evening Star gleams brilliantly opaque,
so I feel life of every soul on Earth
that eddies with atomic flash of love
far from the city stage on Helicon.

My spirit, too long trapped in creeds of faith,
entombed inside strict duty of the church,
urged me to open door of fearful rage,
so I now walk with hawk-winged heart of hope
across the rugged hills of Arcady
where star-eyed Death waits still to hear my song.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus explains to the crowd of people in the Museum of Dead Gods why no one ever returns from bourn of the undiscovered country of death.

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

River-Book Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 06 20

Attentive way I row boat of my heart
along the random journey of my life
exposes secret agenda of hope
written in private river-book of fate
in which I map psychic landscape of faith
my ancestors explored in paradise.

If I should pause from visions of my thoughts,
that spiral through frantic analysis
concerning trajectory of my life,
I may hear splash of water on my boat,
and feel warm glow of sunlight on my skin,
and hear unseen birds chirping in tall trees.

When I emerge from shelter of my mind
to gaze at vastness of the silver sky,
I almost sense some presence of pure light
observing my existence with keen eye,
but I realize with sly grin of respect
that I project my own mind at blank sky.

Though bards of yore in hills of Avalon
sang how they sensed great spirit of the Earth
radiates from all Nature as Divine Mind,
I know that conscious scope of cosmic love
emanates from neural net of my brain
with arrogance that I beam Soul of God.

My brain refracts eternal Soul of Light
that pulses bright in atoms of the void,
enhancing conscious sense of self I Am
reflected clear when I quietly observe
rivers flowing among hills of fruit trees,
and feel my soul in matrix of its dream.

With every choice of action I perform,
based on analysis through measurement
to discern process of cause and effect,
I compose my whole river-book of fate
through chronicle about random events
which I narrate in straight coherent plot.

Yet tangled threads of acts people perform
in sprawling landscape of this cluttered world
fall apart in chaotic mess of faith
which fails to account for all variables
refracted through too many points of view,
so I hum in tune with the river flow.

Since I cannot record every event
that happens in our sprawling maze of myths,
though I wear mask of countless ancient gods,
I roast the fish I catch in stream of dreams
to eat and drink beneath the silent moon,
and wonder where I will go when I die.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus relaxes by the River Styx to eat fish and drink wine while contemplating whether or not there is an afterlife, then cries thinking of Eurydice.

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

Class Struggle For Rights
© Surazeus
2026 06 19

The key I forge from the last angel heart
I turn to start the engine of my car,
then drive acceleration of desire
on signless road of adventurous hope
to find elusive gate to Wonderland
where those who enter find the Promised Land.

Alone in motor vehicle of faith,
powered by piston engine of respect,
I navigate weird landscape of lost myths
past ruined temples where statues of gods
loom faceless in dim twilight of the past,
but I keep driving through their labyrinth
where minotaur of tyranny still lurks.

Safe in time-machine of curiosity,
that shelters my psychic fragility
from expectations of family and friends,
I sing with brave bards on the radio
grim songs about heart-break and keeping on
while I keep driving far from city streets.

Empowered by Icarian wings of hope,
Daedalus built from bones of dinosaurs,
I drive swift Chariot of Ezekiel
on wheels of fortune through the wilderness
that flash awake with social energy
in search for Garden of Eden I bought.

Far from intense games of social contests
in tournaments of class struggle for rights,
I search for garden of sublime delights
inherent through philosophical quests
to transcend brutal nothingness of death
by riding rocket ship to dwell on Mars.

Adjusting frame of psychic reference,
I include garden with reflecting pool
where toads evolve into angelic souls
who dance with graceful elegance of faith
in marble temple of the singing skull
that prophesies how our new state will rise.

Strange beauty of the flower with long roots,
that sprouts from swamp muck of my aching heart,
expands scope of my urgent consciousness
to contemplate force of cause and effect
essential to constant progress of change
that defines our great empire state of mind.

Against weird blinding light of innocence
I close my eyes while driving by the cliff,
to feel extensive height of windiness
flash sense of awe from pulsing heart of fear
so I at last perceive with faithful eyes
mindless spirit that glows in every atom.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus chronicles class struggle for rights of populations in every country where they develop social systems based on equality of psychic worth.

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