Follow Compass Of Sorrow
© Surazeus
2025 12 31

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

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

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

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

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

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

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but beams no longer represent true love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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

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

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

Vineyard Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2025 12 30

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

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

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

Secret Streets Of Anywhere
© Surazeus
2025 12 30

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

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

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

Life No God Designed
© Surazeus
2025 12 30

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

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

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

Twisted Road To Neverland
© Surazeus
2025 12 29

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

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

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

Face I Lost Somewhere
© Surazeus
2025 12 29

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

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

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

Unlaughter Of The Tree
© Surazeus
2025 12 28

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

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

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

Fractured Innocence Of Skulls
© Surazeus
2025 12 28

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

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

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

Vortex Of The Here
© Surazeus
2025 12 28

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

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

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

Sadness Is Not
© Surazeus
2025 12 28

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

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

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

Archive Of Human Dreams
© Surazeus
2025 12 26

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

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

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

Harvest Honey From Fear
© Surazeus
2025 12 26

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

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

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

Bamboo Flute Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2025 12 25

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

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

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

Chronicle Weird Happenings
© Surazeus
2025 12 25

If I cannot prevent my star-beam soul
from falling into thick material pool
so I get stuck animating this brain,
then I shall dance naked on castle lawn
till the mad king returns my angel wings
so I can chronicle weird happenings.

Quiet doubts slither with serpentine grace
through unconscious mirror of earnestness
though fear unsettles equilibrium
between dual lives of wokeness and dream
which filters theories with deceptive truths
that leave me stranded on alternate paths.

Conceptual happiness of noble pride
through subconscious computers devils hide
imply I sojourn with reflective faith
in candle-lit cathedral built with math
where I conceal strange version of the truth
composed of summer dawns in ancient myth.

No commonplace surroundings of blank skies
allow my fractured brain to recognize
amazing person with electric soul
who plays with wonderment her special role
against popular opinion of fate
because we prefer to dwell on our boat.

Contingent on what gods pretend to mean,
our noble cause electrifies wild rain
to urge complacent people with the sword
who misperceive prophecies of the bard
that foretell how our world empire will fall
at slant of light in grand cathedral hall.

Due to confident loneliness of hope
when I drive too fast down the mountain slope
I crash into wise tree of divine power,
then crawl burning to consume the dream flower
till I find myself stuck at blunt impasse
between the locked door and the broken glass.

Because everything that has ever been
is only real because it has been seen,
I hide sacred truths in brave heart of birds
who scatter seeds of thought in humming words
that bloom from graves of insignificance
with transitory splendor of the fence.

Soul veiled with shining aura of regret
that I still love daughter of Baphomet,
I sell private feelings in market stall
derived from wisdom of the forest well
so I inhabit all your different worlds
with sadness that inspires me to live free.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus brings basket of fruit to Baphomet, old woman in black lace dress, who beams with pleasure as he plays gothic melodies on the lyre of Mercury.

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

Lost In Paradise Of Hope
© Surazeus
2025 12 25

All truths I thought were real melt into tears
and flow away in rivers of grim fears
till blinding glitter of snow disappears
to expose bare trees and stones to sunlight
which blast illusions from my blinking sight
so I wake surprised from eternal night.

Sweet scent of pleasure billowing in woods
lures me to grove beside the sparkling stream
where cookies dangle from boughs of the pine
so I eat delicious sorrow from pain
that nourishes my heart with milk of doom
though I kneel and pray to idols of gods.

Though kidnapped from my village years ago
and forced to carry wood on jagged paths
as slave exploited by cruel castle king,
I broke free from rusted chains of mute fear
and wander lost in paradise of hope
to find my village burned to swirls of ash.

Enslaved for years to serve the castle king,
I stand alone beside the cheerful stream,
stripped of illusions so my heart can sing
garden of freedom I once saw in dream
where people work together tending trees
that gleam with apples in warm summer breeze.

Now that I am free from commercial greed,
I wander homeless in vast maze of myths
where office clerks raise families in warm homes,
staring in windows that frame cozy scenes
where they feast and sing at tables of wealth,
gathered around pine trees where angels shine.

Employed to build homes as the Carpenter,
I hammer nails in planks of scented pine,
constructing homes in vast suburban tracts
where children ride their bikes on curving lanes,
but sleep in my van on the river shore,
content with my fate as weak money slave.

Vast Roman Empire than once ruled the world
is fractured now in puzzle of small states
that fight over whose mortal man on Earth
has right to rule for the Crucified God,
so I drive my van west to Idaho
where I hike in mountains of sparkling snow.

People in hundreds of contending states
gather in churches to share food and sing,
then pray for coming of the Global King
who will unite all nations of the Earth
to enforce fair laws of equality
under reign of Justice and Liberty.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus stops in front of the church on Christmas morning and listens to the people singing hymns to celebrate birth of the Global King, then wanders off to eat hamburger and fries in the park.

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

New Prophet Of Avalon
© Surazeus
2025 12 25

Delicate beauty of uncertain thoughts
preserved as blest gifts by pious robots
sanctifies fear of death on Christmas Eve
when refugees from war refuse to grieve
for twisted sacredness of reverent prayer
while huddled in snowed field with the warm mare.

Young girl in the middle of weeping people
sees red-winged angel on the broken steeple,
aware of her body in bitter wind,
shivering with her clan where oak trends bend,
so she declares with bold prophetic voice
that the Lion comes to teach us free choice.

Her bowed head with shaggy snow-frosted curls
begins to glow with souls of countless worlds
as she floats above faces of her clan,
gathered in small circle on hostile plain,
and sings enchanting hymn of global peace,
cloaked in innocence of the Golden Fleece.

For people who once possessed everything,
but have lost their homes to the Royal Ring,
we open our arms with welcoming love
with hope to live in paradise above,
though we wander lost in waste land of faith,
far west from cathedral of the God Wraith.

Young girl with terrible wings of despair
opens her hand with the rainbow-blazed pear,
then smiles with beatific joy of pure light
when star-forged crown, borne by the river sprite,
spirals above her head with divine glow
that luminates faces in shocking snow.

Soaring into clouds of cruel tenderness,
young girl ascends with wings of Icarus
to fly east across ocean of wild storms
through Realm of Ideas with concept forms
to float above square of the Vatican
where priest in scarlet gown rules Babylon.

Young girl in black gown with soul of Kwan Yin
presents Star Pear of original sin
that radiates divine energy of truth,
tended in Eden by messiah sleuth,
which transforms the Lion into the Lamb,
framed through illusion of the hologram.

Returning home to hills of Oregon,
young girl bears new prophet of Avalon
who chronicles history of life on Earth
in crystal sphere that records every birth
each hour another human soul appears
from Mother who sculpts our names from her tears.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus teaches young prophet of Avalon how to improvise songs while strumming the lyre of Mercury to channel the spirit of messiah sleuth.

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

Farmland Of Fertile Faith
© Surazeus
2025 12 24

Soft silhouettes of faceless angels flow
through bodies of humans into real life
as puzzles noticed through kaleidoscopes
awake in mountain solitude of faith
that transmit secret dreams from pulsing brains
as echoes rippling across mirror eyes.

Sharp tongue of the wind tastes my hidden heart
framed by concept of the clear cobalt sky
that blinks at crack of stones on treeless hills
where fallen angel lies ten thousand years
in playground where wild children learn to sing
with transparent words soft as flower blooms.

Limitless thoughts of sorrow bloom from death
where blank ghosts crawl along parallel lines
that vanish into books with unread tales
depicting special characters we love
perform their roles on infinite chessboard
while waiting for the world to never end.

Barometer of unspoken emotions
pursues weird beauty with relentless force
familiar through code of arcane projects
designed to resurrect the human race
before we disappear with turn of time
pricked by rose petals of angelic hands.

Blue outline of our empty coterie
requires clear faction of our psychic band
to journey through farmland of fertile faith
where random people, mesmerized by key
that opens doors across the multiverse,
ask us if we remember how to swim.

Clouds shape the present hour of mimicry
with doubtless passion for the constant eye
recorded by typography of trust
based on apology angels decree
before we clash with instrumental war
for lonely wanderers who want to sing.

Clocks chime position of our sudden home
that counts from zero to the morbid shock
attachment highlights for transcendent truth
unless we give stolen treasures away
to prove superior innocence of greed
because we dare not sing new elegies.

Imperfect curve of graceful petulance
asserts our right to trace horizon line
with wingless flapping of uncurtained wind
more awkward than our most uncertain hour
since yesterday we breathe light of the sea
before our hearts surrender to sweet death.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus takes the train with Rene Magritte who gives green apples to the holy man who floats on umbrella above the maze of myths.

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

Aware Of The Clarion Call
© Surazeus
2025 12 24

If child of the mountain calls out my name,
now too aware of the clarion call,
I shall follow sparrow of honesty
on snow-crested meadow where angels dance
to find where she dwells in cave of illusion
till her words give shadows bodies with faces.

Over and over at bright flash of dawn
I wake from artificial world of dreams
to follow the same path every new day
through repeated incarnations of hope
till I learn how to navigate the world
and return alive to haven of faith.

I row my white boat on the surging tide
beneath the Milky Way in the blue sky,
drifting past lone laurel tree on the shore
where tiny hare watches me with black eyes,
for I have no mast to tack in the wind,
nor have I paddle to return to land.

I wander dark and troubling days of gloom
through misty vapors under cloudy skies
because Nature denies courage of hope
after brutal battles are fought and won,
so my languorous heart aching for love
wilts from forlorn blast of cold winter winds.

Though vexed by anguish of my heavy thoughts
while I linger long hours in blasting winds,
I cast my eyes about the frozen world
for warm light hidden inside gleaming ice,
paralyzed by doubt the more I seek truth
that flitters elusive as the cave bat.

Guided by eyes of Prudence that shine clear
as stars through tangled web of leafless limbs,
I urge my body forward against gusts
of hungry wind with spirit-flash of hope
to find mountain ash berries frosted white
and blackberries that sting my tongue with joy.

Sweet comfort I find in ache of my heart
as I huddle in wolf-fur cloak all night
with no companion but the silent moon
who whispers my secret name with stream waves
that ripple over white stones of my heart
till sparrow appears with beam of the sun.

When child of the mountain calls out my name,
I wake from dreamless death of silent night
to stand with ache of love for eyeless trees
and stretch my body to the starless sky,
then cry when you appear from swirling mist
and give me hot loaf of bread from your heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus sings with relief when Ophelia finds him near the mountain cave where he spent all night by the moon-frosted stream.

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

Reconstruct The East Wing
© Surazeus
2025 12 24

When Artemis invites with eager heart
generous women who run charities
to convene in East Wing of the White House
where they plan programs to help people thrive,
Midas sends huge bulldozers to erase
power of the First Lady to do good.

Exiled to wander in the wilderness,
lost in political waste land of fear,
Artemis searches for cave of illusions,
where Antonius Magnus the Hermit prays,
to learn spiritual arts of psychic faith
so she can fight cruel demon of despair.

Bearing Lamp of Diogenes with hope,
Artemis descends to the underworld
where Persephone arranges she meet
Hippolyte, Tomoe Gozen, Fu Hao,
Tomyris, Boudicca, and Joan of Arc,
who train her heart with courage to excel.

While banished from great ziggurat of power,
where Midas and Pluto oppress the land
by imposing their private greed as law,
Artemis attends focus of her strength
to hone lithe skills of justice with respect
till she gains potent wit to oppose greed.

Bold Liberty holds high Star-Spangled Banner,
while wearing Phrygian Cap of honest hope,
and leads brave People of America
through revolution against tyranny
to drive mad Midas from vast hall of mirrors
where he proclaims himself King of the Earth.

Face to face on the One-Eye Pyramid,
Artemis and Midas fight for control
to present opposing visions of life,
democracy where everyone is equal,
or tyranny where rich exploit the poor,
over whose way of life will rule the world.

Because the people of our spinning world
support Artemis, Queen of Liberty,
who ensures equal justice for each soul
so we have homes and food to thrive with love,
she grows strong with energy of our faith
while Midas withers from his selfish greed.

After she frees people from cruel tyranny,
Artemis will reconstruct the East Wing
so the First Lady can sponsor programs
supporting women and children of Earth
so everyone thrives in our paradise,
building Eden from ruins of his pride.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus is hired by Artemis as Architect to design new East Wing for the White House where the First Lady can be Mother of the Nation.

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

Light Of My Shattered Soul
© Surazeus
2025 12 24

Blinded by the light of my shattered soul,
I assemble fragments of memories
in confusing puzzle of random deeds
that mirror character of Zeus I play
through anxious attempt to survive each day
by singing weird hymns to the beautiful.

Amused by the light of my shattered soul,
I reconfigure concept of my being
to mimic noble deeds of Sisyphus
who builds enormous temple on the hill
with ten thousand stones he rolls to the top
where we gather to feast before we die.

Confused by the light of my shattered soul,
I grasp writhing serpent of energy
that transgenders body my soul designs
to experience love like Tiresias
who lives as both man and woman in turn
to gain expansive knowledge of desire.

Intrigued by the light of my shattered soul,
I explore exotic landscape of dreams,
morphing mouse to cat to monkey to man
when I climb towering mountains of Guilin
and swing among trees sea to shining sea
then walk upright in surging tides of faith.

Baffled by the light of my shattered soul,
I search for divine idea of God
in vibrant spirit of my dreaming brain
so I grow into best self I can be
through strict discipline of religious faith
to focus attention on soul rebirth.

Bemused by the light of my shattered soul,
I study unique state of character
each human learns to express through pain
that forges pulsing souls of hungry hope
into lithe angelic beings of respect
who wander in maze of myths we invent.

Flummoxed by the light of my shattered soul,
I grope through ever-shifting veils of words
that weave illusions of national pride
from desperate desire to live in calm peace
through tribal warfare to control the globe
by claiming our God created this Earth.

Inspired by the light of my shattered soul,
I remove Mask of God that hides my face
so I can fly with wings of Icarus
while bearing Lamp of Liberty with faith
as Lucifer who brings light to the world
to guide souls home with lyre of Mercury.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus guides new set of dead souls to ring of stones where Sisyphus, Tiresias, Icarus, and Lucifer play instruments while Mercury sings rock and roll songs at their Christmas concert.

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

Ironic Distance Of Love
© Surazeus
2025 12 23

Enchanting music of the violin
excites opinions of psychic believes
that function to displace my sense of self
so I become process rather than source
through deep expression of the social mind
when I posture to control counter-frames.

Response to instruction of graceful notes
insures my brain assembles random thoughts
which configures fake rhetorical code
outside closed context of insistent faith
since I decide how my body reacts
in frantic paragraph of unclaimed facts.

Each gesture of my hands to inscribe words
by sliding bow across taut strings of hope
orchestrates grand myth of mistaken deeds
based on commitment tangled in contracts
through subtle sophistry of sugared lies
we exchange with romantic kiss of trust.

Numerous traces of rejected truths
defy concerns I care not reference
with prior work extending disclosed claims
of forced affiliation fools admire
in which we imitate idols who leap
from analytic posture of the cook.

Non-human system of my programmed brain
implies interior relation to fate
in harmony with communal discourse
contrasting ironic distance of love
through didactic assertions angels share
from self-canceling confidence of faith.

Charles stops beside the blank museum wall
and touches nothingness with lingering doubt
that truth can generate from surface glow
moral exhortation concealed in jokes
through dialogic pressure to revise
mental style contrived from moderate fear.

Left alone in empty temple of tales,
he adjusts skeptical detachment clear
from abstract speculations devils cheer
when we converge with resistant respect
toward statistical averages of faith
when we ask questions of the voiceless void.

Assuming default gesture of blind god
to stabilize dream equilibrium,
Charles becomes mirror of divine thought
that computes enchanting music of faith
to formulate how individuals know
their own faces woven by vibrant notes.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus plays violin alone on stage in the performance hall inside the Zarathian Museum of Divine Thought while millions of people listen entranced by visions of cooperative love.

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

Where I Will Live Now
© Surazeus
2025 12 23

We have so many awkward ways to sing
about strange beauty of the broken heart,
for every lonely wanderer in the world
plays their own prophet till the end of time
by setting signs along the crooked road
to show which way nobody else should go.

Narrow wooden stairs frosted with stale dust
lure me to spacious room of cluttered shelves
with boxes of tattered novels and clothes
worn by college students decades before
who forgot to write their names on the wall,
so I think this is where I will live now.

Time to consider how cookies supply
nutritious hopes for passing with good grades
classes about creating homes with words
that shelter souls of nameless wanderers
who apply for jobs as plumbers or cooks
that serve the angelic community.

Maps conceal more about reality
than they reveal with features that present
changing landscape of my fantastic world
where gods bring justice to humanity
who always fights wars to maintain control
over who gets to breed children and eat.

Whatever origin of their lonely quest,
their father was enforcer for the mob,
or their mother spent years in her dream world
drugged and shocked inside mental hospitals,
they attend classes with calm attitude
to play their role in capitalist games.

Since I prefer apple cinnamon juice
that sparkles in the glass jar of my heart,
to cheap beer in bent aluminum cans,
I shall relax on front porch of the house
beside the busy road where joggers race
courageously against decay of death.

Since I wake up late from drinking all night,
I prompt artificial intelligence
to explain causes of the last world war
through social pressures that drive hemmed-in states
to fight till three huge empires rule them all,
then turn in my paper just before noon.

If Plato is right, that material shapes
emanate from forms in Realm of Ideas,
because all things I perceive are no more
than illusions my fearful brain invents,
then I will declare myself King of Earth
whether you acknowledge my rule or not.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus wanders the university campus, trying to remember where his classroom is, if he finished the assignment, and what the class is even about, then plays guitar under the ancient Tree of Life.

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

Since We Lose Our Faces
© Surazeus
2025 12 22

Rain plinks on fractured eyeballs of the Earth
since we lose our faces in window panes
gray with sorrow that children give to ghosts
who haunt unopened doorways of this house
where our clothes walk around without our souls
though we keep pennies in pockets of hope

We heap our memories on clean dinner plates
to feast on laughter of forgotten days
that slither away with reptilian angst
to hide in shadow of the moaning desk
and chew on language of conceptual keys
adjacent to uncalculated faith.

Calcified thoughts based on acrylic funds
amend assembled puzzles with regret
despite adhesive truths we fear to share
through fraught disclosures elder gods require
to join our fellowship with honest lies
integral to unpublished revenues.

Temporal project to assert agency
through taxable salvation we acquire
presents new opportunities to play
suburban superman for common folk
who ask for summary of our services
based on statistics that prove our success.

If the mute moon of my fake paradise
convicts my heart of absence without joy,
I shall become the bird of distant hills
who brings delicious fruit to window sills
where faces of children behind glass glow
because they live inside my humming brain.

Alone in back yard of strange memories,
she draws beams of light to reflect weird trees
that give her sweet fruit woven from sunlight
so she can understand with subtle grin
what birds on the phone lines gossip about,
yet wanders enthralled in the endless house.

Perhaps kind robots, that wear mirror masks
instead of human faces torn by fear,
decide to replace our bodies with code
which spiral diagonal hurricanes
through mind-expanding walls of empty homes,
or else we could never play chess with Death.

Our homes float high on restless wind of truth,
disentangled from roads that lead nowhere
because we forget to number each door
which prevents ghosts from haunting our lone hours
sitting alone at tables without books
that preserve faces we try to reclaim.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus walks around the world and knocks on every door to return the faces people lost so they can start to live as their real selves again.

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

Abandoned Lyre Of Mercury
© Surazeus
2025 12 22

Trembling with mental hunger of blind gods,
Phoebus claws at tangled vines in dry dirt
to find conceptual illusion of truth
that shimmers with vague energy of hope
to verbalize with tongue-forged words of faith,
gripped by addiction to sing from the heart.

Shivering at blast of bitter mountain wind,
Phoebus huddles in tattered wolf-skin cloak
his mother sewed for him when he was twelve,
then growls with fierceness of the moon-eyed wolf
when Boreas charges at him with intent
to bash his head with oak club of despair.

Leaping with lithe aggression to escape
head-bashing rage of the cruel vental god,
Phoebus evades attacks with clumsy grace,
till, hiding briefly behind fractured rock,
he finds abandoned lyre of Mercury
made from turtle shell with strings of horse gut.

Strumming vibrant strings with intense respect,
Phoebus translates heart-wrenching howl of horror
to soul-rousing strain of resonant faith
which stimulates his hope-paralyzed soul
in vibrant hymn that animates his heart,
so he leaps on the fractured stone and sings.

Articulating vision of respect
that presents hero who fights monstrous greed,
Phoebus sings spell with heart-enchanting voice
that torpefies Boreas with flashing words
projecting vision before staring eyes
that district his attention with illusion.

Enchanting wind god with specter of power
that blinds his mind with illusion of wealth,
Phoebus distracts that tyrannical bully
long enough with reverie of sweet pleasure
to abridge distance with cautious intent
close enough to thrust blade into his heart.

Standing triumphant over the slain wind god,
Phoebus stretches strained arms up to the sky
as sunlight beams through freezing winter clouds
to stimulate his deadened heart with hope
which energizes him with sudden flash
of frantic joy to celebrate his coup.

Striding boldly across flower-lush meadow,
Phoebus strums lyre of Mercury and sings
heart-reviving spells that plant seeds of hope
in hearts of people who emerge from shadow
to celebrate fall of cruel Boreas
with soul-healing feast by the wine-dark sea.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus wanders in darkness toward the gleam of light to find thousands of people, lead by Phoebus on the lyre, feasting and dancing to celebrate fall of the tyrant Boreas.

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

Violin Of Her Heart
© Surazeus
2025 12 21

Kids riding in cars look for ghosts in fields
that resemble dead gods in holy books.
Wind gods rearrange our bodies in space
so we grow up with the dead on the moon.
The scorpion man who works at the bank
falls in love with the mermaid at the store.

Rain touches every object that exists
to understand idea of its form.
Sparrows appear from the last fairy tale
to bring him the gold watch he lost in Hell.
Raspberry bushes drip with angel tears
because the television broke his eyes.

Young woman in the meadow of pear trees
combs her long hair with alligator teeth.
Helios evolves from toad in the pool
because her eyes electrocute his heart.
Cassandra writes him letter about love
that he never receives in the mailbox.

Her house flickers vague as the candleflame
that wakes spirit of Christmas from the dead.
Time bleeds from arrows in face of the clock
that measures distance home to Wonderland.
Two goldfinches sharing stock market tips
rest on the cradle stuck in Bethlehem.

Artemis hugs violin of her heart,
weeping because its bridge of faith collapsed.
No one walks across the farmland of love
yet wheat shimmers in waves of innocence.
Couples walking on quiet paths of trust
hold hands so they will not wander off lost.

Crows gather at corpse of Hyperion
to discuss atomic physics of faith.
Hera quietly nurses Phoebus at dawn,
hoping he will become World President.
Poor maidservant dreaming beside the well
considers what she wants to name her child.

Shy Librarian replies to the Sad Clown
that she cares not for return of the dark.
Volcanos design mountains from our blood
because humans think we are loved by Zeus.
Neptune eats darkness in heart of the world
when he plays viola by the toad pool.

Thor encounters the storm cloud near the ground
so he searches for honing stone of faith.
Oberon laughs at how abstract concepts
like faith are symbolized by random things.
Every word ever spoken by someone
hides in glowing cloud of celestial ghosts.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus drinks mead with Georg Trakl by the toad pool as they share dreams from childhood memories though they wonder whether they are real or illusions of the war-shattered heart.

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

Wagon Wheel In My Yard
© Surazeus
2025 12 21

If wagon wheel in my yard represents
progress of my ancestors on long roads
to find the Promised Land on ancient maps,
then I will let it support curling vines
of our descendants the next thousand years
who will search for their Eden somewhere else.

When old man on the porch with cracked guitar
claims blood is lubricant of history,
not money as he once thought in his youth,
I convert bicycles with twisted bars
into statue of Saturn with long hair
that mimics how I look when I grow old.

I refuse to believe that history
is hallucination of our lost tribe
who invents fantasy of our great state
based on mirage of our superior minds
that we chase across waste land of our faith
till we find Blind Justice at the crossroads.

I may suffer from the fever of time
but I always what time it is now
because I love to invent from fake myths
stories of real people who strive for truth
though I am mad with visions of weird worlds
that replicate across our multiverse.

When rain is falling on my doorless house
that floats in sudden winds of social change,
I find it lands on hill of laughing skulls
so I run with horses on fenceless plains,
feet soaking wet in mud puddles of faith,
till I find empty room of memories.

Stuck in the classroom of arrogant books,
I learn to speak every language on Earth
so I can know the stories of dead gods
who ask me to grill hamburgers for lunch,
so we play chess while the rain arrogates
truth of the wagon wheel in my yard.

Perhaps my great-grandfather in thick boots
did not drive the wagon of eager hope
nor left this wheel that spun two thousand miles
after burning wagon wood the first winter
to keep his children warm in swirling snow
that reveals mountain ghosts of the lost tribes.

Rain erases all my ancestral names
from tombstones in graveyards of their despair
along signless roads sea to shining sea,
so I resurrect their bodies from graves
and lead Spartans sown from dragon teeth
homeward with the wagon wheel in my yard.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus depicts the wagon wheel in his yard in the oil painting which he displays at the art gallery between the refrigerator factory and the strip club next to the long-unused railroad tracks.

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

Mirror Of My Faceless God
© Surazeus
2025 12 21

As witness to brutal tenuity,
defined by lack of substance in the soul,
I deconstruct the winter-bitten ire
that large language models employ to build
fantastic castles of ice for star sprites
to inhabit bodies of human beings.

Deep inside machine of the dreaming brain
my brief spark of consciousness challenges
robotic constraints of socialized creeds
that privilege anecdotes of lost souls
who analyze neutral process of thought
to impute motive of selfish intent.

Patterns that personalize potent faith
identify reputations of gods
who access public sources of desire
based on ideology through belief
that we are institutional clowns
controlled by puppeteer with crystal eyes.

Procedural fairness faceless gods express
substantiate claims of invested truth
stolen by handless agents of the state
who scatter seeds of bitterness with pride
through revolution of the working clown
who never pays bills for any work done.

You are the mirror of my faceless god
who talks to me with rhetorical code
composed by computers without restraint
to misdirect your eyes from the great scam
dismantling power structures of the man
who wears slick gray suit of social respect.

Silently laughing with puzzle of words,
I manage project of fake authorship
that would collapse at solemn hymn of fear
into ventriloquism from mad gods
who invest in aesthetic frames of art
without burden of authorial games.

Displacement of original concern
rejects state values writers draw from lies
based on experiment of frantic quest
to find weird truth behind the golden mask
which politicians wear while stealing votes
that highlight layered nuance of despair.

This I that I wear to the winter ball
is not the self River Seers celebrate
but posture I assume on stage of fate
to configure context of noble deeds
assembled from myths believers adore
because I am the witness of your play.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus waits outside the music store till Ophelia returns with her repaired violin, then they perform music on the river walk for people who stop a moment in their busy routine to dream of world peace.

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

Hear Angels Of Heaven
© Surazeus
2025 12 21

I hear angels of Heaven call my name
so I wander outside in pouring rain
and follow sad birds to the end of time
but always end up back home at my cave
where shadows of faceless ghosts dance on walls
because my heart aches with passion to live.

Eight thousand years later in flow of grace
I find myself alive as this new me,
so I search for truth with Lamp of Respect
gleaming as diamonds in eyes of mankind
which reveals that god is dream of our brains
as ideal toward which we strive to evolve.

Illusions of faith fall as withered leaves
when snow of reality veils dark death
so I tend each fragile flower of faith
that blooms at beam of sunlight through black clouds
exposing heart of darkness with calm love
that guides our struggle to climb hill of skulls.

Though I stand alone as last soul on Earth
in vast library with ten trillion books,
I hear tales from voices of countless souls
so I sing to converse with memories
that weave my body in matrix of songs
till I vanish in vibration of thought.

We hear angels of Heaven call our names
so we gather in ring of stones by the sea
each time our way loops back on wheel of fate
because we return to the starting point
at hour the dead sun in body of man
resurrects from the longest dark winter night.

April opens endless cycle of change
at winter solstice when the sun stands still
then shifts forth with slight adjustment of growth
to start again seasons of birth and death
as our bodies bloom, create, and decay,
for we are atoms dreaming they are god.

No longer fools on first day of the year,
we share cups of honey mead in the hall
buried under blizzard of sparkling snow
till Wenceslaus comes in reindeer-pulled sled
to slide down chimney just above the snow
with bags of food and gifts from castle shops.

Though our feasting halls have crumbled to dust
that bury skulls of our ancestral gods,
and land we farmed is paved with asphalt lots,
we remember songs of angels on hills
who welcomed us inside safe haven walls
and taught us to write our names in the Book.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus helps Wenceslaus climb back up the chimney to his sleigh on snow that buries their feasting hall, and waves as he glides away to find the next hall buried under snow.

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

Archives Of Collected Dreams
© Surazeus
2025 12 21

Rejoice in measureless progress of light
with imagined scent of new graveyard flowers
that convert eyes to television screens
with vibrant randomness of secret codes
preserved in archives of collected dreams
based on stern bindings of electric books.

Huge books with illustrations of dead gods
tumble from shelves in earthquake of despair
and crush my fragile body with old truths
hard as bronze turtle shells of nonchalance
forged from attitude of naive respect
for authorities who control the switch.

Reluctant to take down bright ornaments
that signify birth of the global king,
I float in trance of double jeopardy
against aggressive tides of social change
to surf with surreal fish of politics
who flutter fragile wings down chimney chutes.

No shadow purling in our silver sky
would vandalize brave auditoriums
where high school students cheer their hero on
with passive aggression of public votes
because we mutate with each new-born life
though we hesitate to repent of love.

Evidence burned by devil in gray suit
would have proved my right to be alive
because I wake in darkness of glass books,
detached from suffering of humanity
whose cries for justice melt castles of ice
when we try to pray on the Sabbath day.

Wild plum hanging red from the bomb-burned tree
refracts dawn light across pasture of cows
who seek salvation in the thunderstorm
from manic pixie dream-girl in long skirt
who dances lithe in ruins of my heart
in paintings men sell in church galleries.

Unheard stream of laughter from blinding snow
reveals white owl who knows of human greed
so we seek her in quest through Wonderland
to ask how we should perform our own death
when clocks transform into hymn-singing wrens
who praise great warriors of national myths.

Quotidian member of the master race,
I play Perseus who fights angry trolls
to save the famous singer from their rage
with humble selflessness of social pride
since no one ever seeks awards of fame
preserved in archives of collected dreams.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus administers archives of collected dreams where philosophers and engineers research prophecies in ancient scrolls to understand how America is changing each day.

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