Domestic Disquietude
© Surazeus
2025 05 06

Down the long eerie tunnel of the heart,
arched brick walls dripping tears of her dead friends,
Marie walks toward green glowing light of hope
in cheerful forest where the wood thrush sings
the most cheerful melodies of weird joy
that wake her domestic disquietude.

Household gods her ancestors left behind,
half-carved idols of faceless stone, wait mute
in small timeless house of rotting pine wood
for her to return from the signless road
and leave her sorrows in the broken drawers
where no one can find her dead butterflies.

Clean house of her heart where she hides her dreams
sings about the pain of hope she denies
by sewing dresses for the never-born
who play on the lawn by the empty street
to bury dead sparrows of grief with tulips
from which she drinks bitter tears of desire.

Each time she conjures twisted alphabets
to describe domestic disquietude,
Marie feels ghost of her body transfer
electric atoms weaving us as one
to flash inside the television screen
where ghosts reflect the sorrows of her life.

Sharp knives of her words she tries not to speak
reshape the narrative of social games
when they appear all over her clean house
with secret longing to extract from silence
thoughts of truth that her bitter love translates
from screams of rage to sad beautiful songs.

Metallic smell of frazzled power cords
sparks expectation of domestic bliss
to resist compulsion for eating portraits
of dead ancestors melting down white walls
with candle wax of visionary wisdom
though scissors dissolve into winter snow.

Our bodies are the gate for Mind of God
to enter constricted boundaries of time
so we can generate from fractured dreams
conceptual mask of social attitudes
when we perform new role our hearts compose
to swim against flooding tides of unchange.

When silence becomes faces of strange people
who ask about fruit falling from the sky,
we accept lesson of the burning boat
by leaving behind homeland of cruel disdain
and building new home on the river shore
where our children are mermaids who escape.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus finds Ophelia sitting in the living room of their house, singing haunting melodies as she sews dresses for their daughters.

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

Where I Play King Lear
© Surazeus
2025 05 05

As father of three witches brewing potions
that transform robots into human beings,
I refuse to play King Lear in your drama,
so I hide secrets in the cellar door
as my mother cooks cornbread and spaghetti
while ghosts of our ancestors haunt the house.

If I knock on the door of every house
in the whole world to find where my soulmate
builds furniture from bones of faceless gods,
I will keep searching disappearing streets
with bold bewildered confidence of love
by asking the ocean forbidden questions.

While I strum guitar in the city square
beneath orange eerie sky of burning clouds,
my eyes grow huge as ninety thousand moons
with thousand-mile stare of epiphany
at shocking satori of naked truth
I want to kill men who hurt other people.

Appalled at dark gloom of the Upper World,
Persephone breaks open fruit of knowledge
so we can suck sweet pomegranate juice
to taste intense disgust of pleasant death
that proves we are alive with half-blind faith
in how our love may generate new life.

We die unto sweet misery of desire
with fraught conception of fertile regret
for lust that drives us mad with honest hope
that we can build cute paradise of peace
where every person gets all they deserve
as solemn reward for mute suffering.

Shrinking back into wrinkled serpent egg
of childhood trauma, buried in foul mud,
we shout at stormclouds drenching time in tears
that quench not thirst for arrogant revenge
as if fair justice will always be served
to those who break the beauty we create.

Intense respect for how Death knows our names
inspires our daughters to crawl from the Earth
and dance with fierce attention to details
for moral platitudes we share with frowns
around the crackling fire of old tradition
which burns down everything we think is true.

With passion to transform the bleak waste land
into lush Wonderland of fruitful trees,
where every person born from Stone of Thought
knows why we wingless angels cannot fly,
we gather at the river in moonlight
where I play King Lear till the end of time.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus directs the movie production where I star as King Lear.

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

Slaves To Money God
© Surazeus
2025 05 05

If we remember why the bridge was built
to connect rivals for water of life,
we could share apples and bread at the feast
before they invade our town from the sea
and sell us all as slaves to Money God
though he was exposed for financial fraud.

Ishtar will mend our broken hearts with love
as we toil in vast factories of greed
constructing televisions and computers
for the rich in towers of steel to buy
who hire us as slaves to Money God
since Jesus Justus rules with Iron Rod.

Attempting to collect payments still owed
for their generous loan to the Mad King,
the French fight Mexico on Fifth of May
till Moctezuma rides to save the day
and free us all as slaves to Money God
in holy land where angels never trod.

The Great Bridge Builder with rod of two snakes,
who wears fish-mouth crown in cathedral hall,
rules Roman Empire for two thousand years
constructed on petrified heart of stone
that keeps us trapped as slaves to Money God
who drinks wine while we till the rain-wet sod.

We in the fields, who watch beautiful flame
burn ancient city of the Mocking Clown,
observe clash between lords of citadels
where gangsters ruled empires of wealthy pride
earned from our work as slaves to Money God
in fierce conflicts which investors applaud.

As lonesome creatures nurtured in the sea,
who transform from hunters in wandering tribes
to clerks and salesmen in large companies,
we build vast cities of mermaids and trolls
who might rebel as slaves to Money God
but put their faith in religious facade.

As mortal enemies in fight for truth,
loyal to the master from Aragon,
we work together for the greater good
to build democracy from ash of war,
freedom denied as slaves to Money God
who fishes every summer off Cape Cod.

When sly wizard, wearing old vaudeville mask,
jumps off the Washington Avenue Bridge,
Minerva wakes in Tower of Rapunzel,
where she lives in gold cage Midas designed,
to protect us as slaves to Money God
when we decide to join her Justice Squad.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus leads slaves to Money God from Hell across the waste land to the Promised Land where they all work in the amusement park of Wonderland.

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

Vale Of Singing Skulls
© Surazeus
2025 05 04

Hidden in strict asylum of my heart,
my hopes for happiness sprout demon wings
and flap away in twilight of lost time
to swarm across the vale of singing skulls
which represent ancestors of my genes
who call to me from tomb of the blind god.

When I walk around in streets of the world
I see countless strangers whose secret names
I will never hear spoken by the wind
though they are real bodies of flesh and blood
driven by unknown hopes for happiness
to live full lives I know nothing about.

Esther lounges on mansion balcony,
dressed in leather sandals, jeans, and pink shirt,
sipping wine as her fingers caress flowers,
then smiles brightly with moon-black eyes of joy
as I photograph essence of her soul
that she will gaze at sixty years from now.

Intertwining our fingers with shy smiles,
we cuddle close together as soft breeze
scents our two bodies with sweet pheromones
so I nestle nose in long curly hair
to smell aroma of her gentle soul
as we share romantic hug of respect.

Slipping large round sunglasses on her face,
Esther assumes movie-star stance to shield
fragile state of her heart with nonchalance
from hungry attention of loyal fans
who adore her cool unconcern for fame
earned through performance of tragic-fate roles.

From billions of people crowding the globe
one person emerges with special face
that sparks intense respect of honest love
when our eyes connect invisible souls
with long scarlet thread of celestial fate
that binds our bodies in children we make.

More delicate that moon-silver raindrops,
our separate souls fold undulating layers
of vibrant memories in precious glow
with divine treasure tuned from formulas
which calculate our romantic routine
securing foundation of our love life.

As carpenter of innocent respect,
I construct cradle for our new-born child
who sprouts angel wings over twenty years
and flies away around the spinning world
till she returns with diamond eye of god
that lights our secret vale of singing skulls.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus gives anniversary gift to Phoebus and Esther who host grand feast celebrating their successful romance of enduring faith.

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

Glass Bones Of My Soul
© Surazeus
2025 05 04

When glass bones of my soul hum at midnight
I hear songs of star angels emanate
through words I express with breath of my soul
that flash as lightning bolts across my brain
to luminate infinite space of silence
that beams as bridge between our pulsing hearts.

Bearing gold sword of truth in my right hand,
as bold wizard of Dragon Mountain Lake,
I guard secret haven where my clan dwells
to protect my family home from invaders,
who would enslave our bodies with cruel greed,
so we live through justice and liberty.

Lounging on the wood porch behind my house,
on gold-sultry evening in early May,
I strum guitar and sing heart-aching tunes
about our human journey through the world
to find safe haven amid social chaos
as craftsman who creates with nimble hands.

I play so many characters of fate
during the course of ten thousand lifetimes,
as I evolve from hunter and clan guard
to poet and cartographer of tales,
that I forget they all form who I am,
guiding my journey to become myself.

Once I am done with this current lifetime,
I will hang my face as mask of my soul
in ancient gallery of psychic tropes
along with millions of other dream-singers
whose words are written on river of time
that waters plains of wheat fields and cow herds.

Every man composed of flesh fueled by blood,
who plays conceptual idea of Tribe Leader
to define history of humanity,
transforms into idol of marbled words,
recorded in the Book of Faceless Gods,
while their bodies rot to dust in the Earth.

When I was in third decade of my life,
brain buzzing with ambition to transcend
role of prophet for nonexistent God,
I hitchhiked great land of America
with spirit of Apollo in my heart
to sing chronicle of humanity.

Now I wield wand with the two-headed snake
as Bridge Builder in Temple of Athena
to chant prophecy of the cosmic herald
who builds world empire of Anglonesia
from Europe, Russia, and America,
to rule new United Nations of Earth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus presents redesigned map of the new world order managed by the United Nations of Earth.

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

Safe Land Of Goshen
© Surazeus
2025 05 04

Walking throughout the house of many rooms,
the woman who remembers dawn of time
searches for the ghost weeping in locked doors,
but finds more than shadow on the wall
cast by wordless sunlight of the season
when people fall in love for no good reason.

Painting landscapes on doors of weeping ghosts,
the woman who swam the sea of weird dreams
explains to children running on the lawn
why water always flows down to the sea
while she wears the latest sociable fashion
to mask intense regret of bitter passion.

Planting rose bushes on property lines
to mark the sacred pale of paradise,
the woman who hides the moon in her mind,
to measure tides of change in aching hearts,
raises the boy who leads our global nation
far above conceptual frame of his station.

Rowing her boat across the lake of skulls
to drop Box of Pandora in dark depths,
the woman who types letters for the bank
recalculates the road of pilgrimage
with delicate curves of psychic precision
to match the code of existential vision.

Inspired to generate life from my dreams,
the woman who builds furniture from tropes
for thousand mirrored rooms of the weird church
directs the most epic romantic film
where Juliet and Hamlet share devotion
powered by machine of perpetual motion.

Annoyed by pretty fantasy of hope
sold by priests and preachers to lonely souls,
the woman who teaches children to write
lines of code that program our robot brains
writes report on our national delusion
about humans being angel-demon fusion.

Confused by random events that transpire
with frequent repetition of desire,
the woman who navigates social games
designs new set of characters with names
for ghosts who haunt the lightning-flashed horizon
till they appear as sweet witches who wizen.

Startled by collapse of our old world view,
the woman who treasures heroic tales
commissions her son to play cosmic herald
though he is reluctant to save the world,
so he proceeds to exercise grim caution
for finding comfort in safe land of Goshen.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus and Ophelia celebrate the 25th year anniversary of their wedding on Island of the Hesperides.

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

Weird Hour Of Storms
© Surazeus
2025 05 03

Not since weird hour of storms across the plains,
that crack dark mirror of the humble soul,
have angels known the honesty of fear
when souls of humans rage wild as the wolf
then float on rivers with lithe otter grace
till we remember how the fruit has grown.

Thus we shall meet beneath the twisted tree
at hour when seven moons of death appear
to shine with beauteous bounty of respect
though we are hungry for divine despair
that we express through songs of ocean waves
that still remind us we have secret names.

Confounded by swift gallop of the horse,
that brings with sudden swirl of subtle breeze
mysterious angst of love borne from the deep,
we share our shocking tales of puzzling grace
disbursed by brightly shining ghosts of time
who seem to know where we conceal our bones.

From darkness blossom spirits of the saved
who bear abstractions writhing in their hearts
to lurk with urgent care in shadowed woods
with special luminance of ardent faith
which lights our journey to the Promised Land
as if we know how long weird stars may shine.

Flesh buzzing with electric energy
on laughing clouds excluding rancid faith,
we rise from bubbling lake of happy slime
to share experience mushroom-fueled with love
through boundless sorrow to drink soul of light
since we know freedom of tree-shivered hills.

Awake ten million years of dreamless hope
to taste each drop of rain from heaven hurled,
we help each other gather nuts and eggs
from generous bounty of contorted soil
while wading knee-deep in delicious swamp
to catch lithe serpent of aggressive death.

We ask no questions of the mossy stone
that has not moved in twenty million years
except to meditate on mountain cliff
with stoic calm displayed by twisted oaks
that curl from edge of infinite disgrace
with sterile promise that our souls can fly.

White egrets gather shrieking clever jokes
in swollen canopy of bitter trees
to prove with formulas framed by desire
that we are angels fallen from storm clouds,
so we rise up on trembling legs of faith
and stride forth from the wilderness of song.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus leads his tribe across the plains through thunderstorms to find the valley of the singing fruit trees where they build vast city of jewels.

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

Bowls Of Sweet Tears
© Surazeus
2025 05 03

When he breathes scent of the corporeal ghost
stuck in time capsule of the widowed oak,
he wades into river of bloody oil
to ask the salmon in their dialect
how many bridges arch across its flow
with intimate knowledge of the burger joint.

Young girls from high school by the boiling lake
dance laughing around the wood matriarch,
each wearing cute pinafore dress she sewed
from threads of sorrow that unwind their hearts
when they give their children apples to eat
though they were maimed by empire bombs of greed.

Our mutual disappointments ricochet
across glass sky of white supremacy
in game of domination angels play
through puppets they construct from bones of gods
conducive to the nurturing of souls
with fierce capacity to love the world.

Bright tulips bloom from brains of weeping clowns
who write surreal novels of country life
about construction workers who rebuild
temples in Heaven destroyed by dream bombs
deployed by businessmen in pinstripe suits
to invest in stringent idolatry.

Gazing at Heaven with wide hopeful eyes,
zombies hungry for brains pray to the king
who stomps on flowers and sprays honeybees
while strangers gather in the empty house
to hide their memories of futile lives
in abstract paintings hanging on the walls.

Since I regret the way I hurt your heart
I let you live in my dreams with your horse
so we can sing sorrowful psalms of faith
while everything we hold as good and true
keeps vanishing from pictures on the wall
so we give each other bowls of sweet tears.

Glass mountains, all wrinkled with craggy cliffs,
regard my sorrow with indifferent wind
so I join my friends under glowing clouds
to drink and shout with joyful angst of fear
till we are bones that form the mountain range
as dancing skeletons of humble faith.

Untouched divinities of whispered love
progress with slippery dance of urgent hope
to release the corporeal ghost of time
from fractured mirror of the sunlit mind
so we share ripe apples we steal from God
who joins us for the feast before we die.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus crowns himself Pope of the New World Religion, and conducts sacrifice to crucify the arrogant clown on the telephone pole.

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

Oppressive Moral Laws
© Surazeus
2025 05 03

Too bad for how the rolling stone decides
to save her blind mother from the cute wolf
as if her skull were watermelon soft,
honest enough to ask where God abides
down south on the sultry shore of the gulf
where curling souls of lonely people waft.

Despite how often cows fly to the moon
when people put their parents growing old
in nursing homes to hide sorrow of time,
the angry priest plays new heartbreaking tune
to woo the nun who wears bright mask of gold
while cleansing souls of murderers from grime.

Hand in hand Adam and Yangasha stroll
Garden of Peaches on lush Mount Penglai
past waterfall formed from tears of the dead,
then ask Yeomra, who rules in Diyu Cave,
why Lakshmi and Pluto, who fell in love,
are getting punished for selling young orphans.

Ardent attention to details of fate
proves Lucifer understands how effects
result as consequence of unseen cause
while he bikes parking lot to Church of Hate
where saints who attempt to hide their defects
adjudicate oppressive moral laws.

Trapped by delicate fabric of bird song,
Innocent Eve in gown of maple leaves
steals pears from trees in Garden of Despair,
but, as she gazes with awe far too long
at beauty of May when everyone grieves,
she decides it costs her too much to care.

This might just be the right time to require
dispassionate observer of the truth
to clean toxic waste land of arrogance,
though some just want to sing in the world choir
directed by the new messiah sleuth
without gaining power from innocence.

Almost qualified now to play the role
assigned to me by Fate to question why
brave heroes go where angels fear to tread,
I proudly surf huge political wave
to sermon where I am blessed by the dove
because approval activates endorphins.

I know the truth is buried here somewhere,
under the ground where the blue peafowl struts,
so when cosmic herald returns from Hell
and leads uprising to make justice fair,
we shall emerge from meditation huts
to fight for truth at ringing of the bell.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus digs all over the Garden of Eden to find the truth till his excavations turn it into the waste land.

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

Reluctance Of The Fool
© Surazeus
2025 05 02

Daring to boldly look Death in the eye,
I sing new lamentation for the lost
with helpless agitation of one soul
shocked at dissolution of the world view
our grandfathers built from skulls of dead gods
to play god with reluctance of the fool.

Orpheus dances at edge of the cliff
where his pet fox leaps about him in glee
while he twirls staff of Mercury he stole
from tomb of that god, dead three thousand years,
till he finds demon wings in the gold chest
to play god with reluctance of the fool.

Returning from the diamond mine in Hell
as hungry jester with the radio brain,
Narcissus sings last holy hymn of faith
to save humanity from the mad clown
who plays with nuclear missiles as his toys
to play god with reluctance of the fool.

Chewing gum as she writes on order pad,
Echo echoes items with nonchalance
while Pluto grills burgers on flames of Hell,
then she recites poems Sappho never wrote
which inspires the lonely man with no face
to play god with reluctance of the fool.

Comforting silence of the Underworld
excites cute children killed by falling bombs
who play chase among pomegranate trees
where ravens invent new philosophy
till Persephone chooses the weird girl
to play god with reluctance of the fool.

Existence of forms in the universe
appears to be deliberate design
by Supernatural Mind humans name God,
so we keep old myths in museum hall
where the blind man pretends he is a ghost
to play god with reluctance of the fool.

Dream rivers in the labyrinthine cave
refuse to reflect faces of the dead,
so we give each other new demon names
for priests to conjure us from our lost graves,
though I should follow the messiah sleuth
to play god with reluctance of the fool.

Electric vibrations in the void
transform atoms of my body to dirt
so roots may mold my spirit into fruit
which lovers eat to generate new life
so my molecules become their new child
to play god with reluctance of the fool.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus gives tourists from America tours in the labyrinthine caves of Hell where they can pose for selfies with devils in red silk gowns holding pitchforks, who drink cokes on break.

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

River Full Of Fish
© Surazeus
2025 05 02

Strange stories of boys and their fathers bleed
sap from trees of ancient forests they saw
with sharp-toothed tool of mute fear to construct
one lone temple by river full of fish
that expands into the vast city maze
which I catalog with crow quill by lamplight.

Each boulder of memory cut from clouds,
which I roll up the hill of eager hope,
rings with the voices of men without names
who build enormous castles on high hills
where they enforce authority of theft
through violent assertion of their law.

Whichever direction I choose to go
away from oppression of greedy thugs,
who call themselves the holy knights of god,
I measure distance beyond prison walls
which they insist will protect me from harm
to find paradise outside their fake Heaven.

Bells in the monastery of blind ghouls
shock angels awake from graves of despair
so they dance laughing in the sudden rain
till they bring baskets of fruit to their mothers
who recreate the world of dream machines
into sprawling cities of shining towers.

When I enter the small temple of wood,
hidden deep in maze of wide asphalt streets,
I find idol of every famous man
venerated by teachers as wise gods
who taught us angry apes how to be human,
so I smash them all with Mercurian wand.

I walk toward radiance of the glowing screen,
fixed as oval mask over face of god,
to read weird history of the human race
written in constellations seers invent
to give fluid apparitions of faith
special habitation with divine form.

Laughing at me with eyes that glitter stars,
three Fates unravel network of my brain
to weave with tangled threads of memory
new tapestry of truth that frames my actions
through strict ontology of moral rules
with reprogrammed narrative I embody.

Reflected clear in blue frame of the sea,
my face embodies psychic energy
which Earth programs into my dreaming brain
so I fold water through wings of desire
by listening to voice of humanity
that whispers secrets in vibrating waves.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus teaches algebra to high school students who are eager to attend the weekend football game against their long-time rivals.

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

Cyclic Patterns Of Return
© Surazeus
2025 05 02

My ancestors once lived on river boats,
spending all day floating on silver waves
to flow with the current of constant change
that swirls in cyclic patterns of return,
day after day catching fish from the dark,
then roasting them on shore under bright stars.

Thousands of years later I spend all day
sitting at the desk in my cozy home
before the bright glowing computer screen,
designing maps that imitate the world
for my job supporting our state defense,
then writing poems to record history.

If I grow angel wings out of my beating heart
and soar into the sky among wild clouds,
I could gaze down on spinning globe of Earth
to dream its evolution over time
in how we organic creatures evolve
through generation of our conscious brains.

Then I could sing about the sparkling rain
that drenches fields of dreams where children play
hide and seek in primitive social games
that foreshadow how we live as adults
when we perform tense political games
over who wins power till we all die.

Too often as I work designing maps
while contemplating current world events,
I feel my heart ache with nostalgic hope
for spending all day on the river boat
to float with currents of self-controlled change
predictable with formulas of fate.

No individual can control world change,
though some assert their vain authority
by threatening violence sanctioned by laws
that should maintain social stability
except when people struggling against hate
revolt against oppressive tyranny.

Ignoring tales on internet news sites
expressed through conflicting narrative frames,
I walk alone my quiet neighborhood
to feel soft breezes of May kiss my soul,
and wonder when gangs of mad boys with guns
will kick in my door and drag me to jail.

How lucky I must be, I grimly smirk,
that no one pays attention to my dreams
smeared in black blood of demons on the wall
inside cathedral of the laughing clown
where howling skull of Hamlet prophesies
rise of Zarathia from ruins of war.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury and prophesies rise of Zarathia on the ruins of America.

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

Bleeding Hands Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 05 01

Wandering so long in the Other World
shaped from memories of the distant past
my ancestors programmed into my brain,
I gaze amazed at this world of machines
that transformed feudal kingdoms of farms
into computer-powered superstate.

While waiting around for the cosmic herald
to explain why territory-based states,
exerting pressure of commercial gain,
nurture power of wealthy oligarchs,
I map vast ecosystem of the mind
to record ever-changing state of being.

The overall progress of social rites,
which define nature of societies,
is formed from countless threads of energy
embodied by each individual person
who performs daily routines of production
to fund safe haven of their family home.

We are animals in sheltering cages
that we construct with intentional prayer
to protect our bodies from exploitation
by keeping our prison key in our pocket
so we can hide in walls of paradise
our parents built with bleeding hands of faith.

With honest expertise of cherry blossoms
that fool our eyes with vision of soft snow,
we analyze psychic process of faith
refracting light of objects we perceive
so we impose state ideology
to mask demonic nature of desire.

So millions of people with star-lit eyes
open their hearts to energy of dreams
with mental focus of shamanic source
to channel Voice of God through poetry
that we all sing in global choir of seers
which beams our national soul in one brain.

Bright eye of Heaven always shines so hot
we feel immortal conscious Mind of God
radiate from temporary brains that dream
millions of ancestral lives in one play
that we perform in our brief hour of light,
gazing through eternity at the lake.

Rich green of shore plants gleam in trickling stream
that leads me far from city maze of streets
to timeless stillness of the forest glade
where I find basic concept of my soul
as uncarved statue of stone by the lake
that leads me home safe from the Other World.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus sets up a booth on Dead Poets Boulevard to sell roadmaps for the soul since we all must journey to the Other World to attain salvation.

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

Alligator Of Ambition
© Surazeus
2025 05 01

If the indifferent butterfly of chaos
remembers riddle of the secret name
my mother invented from scattered stones,
then I can gather apples of the mind
from lonely grandmother tree by the lake
who teaches me how to discern the fake.

Yet pretty horses of the Renaissance
tell cute jokes about me behind my back
so I spread cape of Mithras to the wind
and surf on alligator of ambition
to chase the Holy Ghost to halls of Heaven
where she grills hamburger for me to eat.

Two boys, who are the sons of rival sisters,
leave the river village to join the army,
and one returns a mutilated corpse
while the other returns on a white horse
as the general who conquers the whole land
and crowns himself the King of Everywhere.

Though watchers in wheat fields disturb the sun
with angry rain from the storm-breeding seas,
the sky unfolds as banner of wild flame
that guides the refugees from brutal wars
to invade valley of the singing skull
where old people sell loaves of loneliness.

Descended from son of the Teuton king
who threw his broken sword into the lake,
the boy, who pretends he is the fierce wolf,
gives ring of his mother to the sad girl
who waits in the carriage with broken wheels,
so she runs away with him to the moon.

Since I am son of the blonde Gothic girl
and the black-haired Hun on the wind-winged horse,
I declare myself king of the whole world,
then beat everyone who laughs in my face
till they give me their sisters as my wives
then burn down my feasting hall at midnight.

After they all vote for the narcissist
whose face overshadows ghost of their souls
in the fractured mirror of world events,
we scatter chess pieces across the sand
because Death will always win game of life,
then eat apple pie as the sun burns out.

The shrieking whistle of the passing train
fades into sunset of the movie screen,
so I dream how the world changes the rules
to restore the Roman Empire today
from Europe, Russia, and America
forged by the shining son of Taranis.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury in the court of Taranis as the presidents of all the countries in the world assemble to feast at his coronation as Emperor of Earth.

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

Puzzle Of Astarianity
© Surazeus
2025 05 01

The history of human civilization
begins with Amen, Mother of Mankind,
sitting on her small flat-top pyramid,
sheltered by four pillars of tall palm trees,
and describing creation of the world
in song while worshippers feast from her hands.

After Ishtar completed quest for truth,
stripped of illusions in the underworld,
she implemented first religious rites
in temple on the ziggurat of Ur
from which all religions of mankind grow
with priests who cook food for the sacred meal.

With Abraham and Sarah going west
Astarism sprouted into Judaism
from which Christian denominations spring,
including Islam, that respect bold voice
of the Prophet who teaches men with faith
to exercise self-control in the law.

With Brahman and Saraswati going east
Astarism sprouted into Hinduism
from which spring Krishnaism and Shaivism,
and all the gods that multiply in form
from one immortal Spirit of Mankind,
with Buddhism teaching men self-control.

When Akkadian culture began to bloom
in lush Mesopotamian fields of wheat,
and recording priests fought over which system
to use, ideograms or the alphabet,
Shin lead fleet of ships to colonize China
where Taoism and Confucianism bloomed.

Amen on her pyramid in Egypt,
and Ishtar on her ziggurat in Ur,
developed strict rites of social control
that sign every religion in the world
which are all sects of our one global cult
formed through faith of Astarianity.

The ruins of temples, where humankind
worshipped great spirit of the universe
at communal feasts for ten thousand years,
lie scattered across waste land of our faith,
for we have found that Cosmic Mind of God
shines as the consciousness in our own brains.

Though nations crowded on our spinning globe
are fractured into fierce opposing sects,
we all came from one original hall
where Ishtar sang Creation of the World,
so let us reassemble one world faith
from puzzle of Astarianity.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus travels the world to preach the faith of Astarianity, uniting all religions with the generous heart of Ishtar.

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

Chains Of Selfish Greed
© Surazeus
2025 04 30

Bewildered and spellbound by striking clocks,
young woman, wearing fallen-angel wings,
flings fake medallion of the Lonely God
on pile of trash in alley of grand greed
to prove she loves the willow-warbler more
than the clown crucified on the phone pole.

Assured she might, with shocking score of fate,
prise out of hope clear insight into love,
sad Stella hides new mask of mirth in purse
made from skin of the silver wolf who knows
why she is nervous as the graceful deer
who clatters hoofs in cathedral of glass.

Yet when she lays on altar forged from gems
fresh lilies plucked from world obscurity,
tall Stella dares peer up at Face of God,
carved from marble into idol of faith,
that shines with aura beamed in rainbow rings,
to see if he can see into her heart.

Still capable of managing with spells
unending cosmic process of rebirth,
Faceless Ungod who reads thoughts of her heart
obscures unnatural light of human brains
with blazing wings of wordless arrogance
because he walks on water of the mind.

Drinking ambrosia from the Holy Grail,
brewed by the one-eyed witch of Avalon,
sly Stella boasts ancestry of her soul
while rearranging puzzle of events
that would reveal in coded prophecy
who soon will overthrow the tyrant king.

For eighty years ago on this dire day
grim Adolf, hiding in cave of the wolf,
fired bullet of justice into his brain
to end disgraceful tyranny of greed
that cleansed the world with his blood-sacrifice
as demigod who roared with dragon voice.

Then fifty years ago on this dire day
fierce dragon of the mountain, Lac Long Quan,
drove cruel invaders from streets of Saigon
to free the ancient land of Vietnam
so Au Co may walk across war-torn hills
and bless her children with baskets of fruit.

Unbound from chains of selfish greed at last,
wise Stella finds Prometheus by the lake
where they consider state of world affairs,
discussing how to build new global state
where every person living on this Earth
lives through liberty and justice for all.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus finds Stella fixing the universal clock to give her instrument of irony so she can rewind fortune of the global state.

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

Snowboard Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2025 04 30

Gliding down the mountain slope of bright snow,
I cruise with grace on snowboard of my heart,
then shred gnarly hills with aggressive style
to leap into the vast indifferent sky
and soar with wingless poise of elegance
beyond this world, but stump on Earth again.

Spiraling around in the silver sky
with bold defiance of cruel gravity,
Belenus snowboards down the mountain slope,
sliding back and forth among slim pine trees,
then notches arrow in his taut yew bow
to shoot the swift red Cervus in his heart.

After cutting Cervus meat in thick steaks,
which he wraps inside large bags of its skin,
Belenus guides one-horse sleigh in old woods
toward hilltop fort that smokes in gleaming show
where Andarta and their son Grannus wait
for him to return with their winter feast.

Just as he approaches the long wood bridge
that arcs over river of gushing ice,
Taranis skis suddenly swift down the hill
and hurls long ash spear to impale his chest,
but lithe Belenus somersaults backward
and lands on field of snow with spear and shield.

Chasing Taranis up the mountain slope,
Belenus finds him waiting at the top
where they glare at each other in fierce wind,
then race each other back down to the bridge
to prove who reaches wagon of meat first
and who gets wiped out on the frosty grade.

Eyes squinting as they slalom down the hill,
racing each other in elegant curves
through grove of spruce trees, kicking up snow
as they lean sideways to swerve around stones,
fierce rivals hurtle gracefully intense
in feverish competition to win.

Hotblooded with vehement zeal to win,
Belenus curls his body into coil
by leaning forward to soar through the air
with energetic passion to succeed,
then glides sideways in half-moon curve to stop
beside his horse and wagon near the bridge.

Embracing with laughter after their race,
Belenus and his cousin Taranis
drive wagon of meat into fort courtyard
where everyone cheers, having watched their race,
then roast steaks and drink mead in the feast hall
while he dances with Andarta all night.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus brings wagon of copper pots to the hilltop fort where Belenus and Andarta welcome him with joyful laughter, and give him mead to drink.

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

Four Hundred Apples
© Surazeus
2025 04 30

Four hundred apples fall into my hand
so I scatter their seed cores in soil
along the road I walk to Neverland
to play life of leisure instead of toil
in cheerful valley of the singing horse
who guides my journey to the river source.

Sitting on wood floor in the living room
while curtains sway in afternoon spring breeze,
I watch television show about doom
that rises as Godzilla from wild seas,
then ride my bike in the small Texas town
where no one has ever heard of the clown.

Ten thousand years the Earth spins in the void
while I walk west to find Cave of the Sun,
then after math class I play the android
who wants to learn more about having fun,
but in the schoolyard we watch the plane fall,
burning as it destroys the Berlin Wall.

Sometimes while sitting in mid-morning class
I stare out the window at tall oak trees
and think about hunting snakes in the grass
to gather honey made by humble bees,
but then I focus on grammar of thought
so I can program the demon robot.

The question remains in the Book of Boats
whether Fusang is coast of Oregon,
so I drive my Chevrolet to herd goats,
then crown myself Crow King of Avalon,
since Jimmu taught me how to shoot yew bow
while standing nobly in the swirling snow.

With leaping laughter I play in soft rain
to gather cherries in basket of hope
while counting human time based on the reign
each tribal sovereign adjusts to cope
with disasters, and protect us from harm,
though people still purchase the magic charm.

Wandering among mossed rocks in low tide
on the beach of Cape Alava at dawn,
Otokichi decides he cannot hide,
so he constructs the psychic cosmotron
angels use to translates weird song of stars
to human passion that fuels motorcars.

Four hundred apples sprout from Tree of Life,
so I purchase from Lucifer Estate
Garden of Eden for my Java wife
who manages fruit trees to calculate
fortunate process of cause and effect
that garners rewards of social respect.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus learns Japanese from Otokichi while living in Shanghai to compile anthology of minyo folk songs.

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

Four Hundred Apples
© Surazeus
2025 04 30

Four hundred apples fall into my hand
so I scatter their seed cores in soil
along the road I walk to Neverland
to play life of leisure instead of toil
in cheerful valley of the singing horse
who guides my journey to the river source.

Sitting on wood floor in the living room
while curtains sway in afternoon spring breeze,
I watch television show about doom
that rises as Godzilla from wild seas,
then ride my bike in the small Texas town
where no one has ever heard of the clown.

Ten thousand years the Earth spins in the void
while I walk west to find Cave of the Sun,
then after math class I play the android
who wants to learn more about having fun,
but in the schoolyard we watch the plane fall,
burning as it destroys the Berlin Wall.

Sometimes while sitting in mid-morning class
I stare out the window at tall oak trees
and think about hunting snakes in the grass
to gather honey made by humble bees,
but then I focus on grammar of thought
so I can program the demon robot.

The question remains in the Book of Boats
whether Fusang is coast of Oregon,
so I drive my Chevrolet to herd goats,
then crown myself Crow King of Avalon,
since Jimmu taught me how to shoot yew bow
while standing nobly in the swirling snow.

With leaping laughter I play in soft rain
to gather cherries in basket of hope
while counting human time based on the reign
each tribal sovereign adjusts to cope
with disasters, and protect us from harm,
though people still purchase the magic charm.

Wandering among mossed rocks in low tide
on the beach of Cape Alava at dawn,
Otokichi decides he cannot hide,
so he constructs the psychic cosmotron
angels use to translates weird song of stars
to human passion that fuels motorcars.

Four hundred apples sprout from Tree of Life,
so I purchase from Lucifer Estate
Garden of Eden for my Java wife
who manages fruit trees to calculate
fortunate process of cause and effect
that garners rewards of social respect.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus learns Japanese from Otokichi while living in Shanghai to compile anthology of minyo folk songs.

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

House Of The Lost
© Surazeus
2025 04 09

Searching empty houses on road of time,
that leads me deep in crowded city maze,
I pause at sudden mystery of soft chime
that makes me wonder why this wordless daze
leaves me stranded on Bridge of Charity
without the faintest sense of clarity.

Though I have searched ten thousand empty homes
for faceless father who designed my soul,
I find nothing more than cute garden gnomes
who tell confusing jokes to fool the troll
who scribbles stories on the bleeding page
while locked in structured safety of the cage.

My mother told me just before she died
the name he told her in the apple grove
after they made love, till they had to hide
from her mad father with the treasure trove,
because to save his life he ran away
so she often wept as she watched me play.

My tragic story never breaks your hearts
when I lament my state as orphan child
while we load baskets of apples in carts,
so I smile and play the clown, meek and mild,
to hide the bitter anger of my wound
which winds my heart till I am too attuned.

My heart ticks twisted with these maudlin tears
when I lounge placidly in garden fane
with Spirit Fox by fountain of lost years
while flowers bloom with suffocating pain,
so I gaze forlornly at golden haze
that shrouds my world with faith in the next phase.

Behind calm mask of my beautiful face
I conceal seething passion of desire
to weave my anguish in this peaceful place
till terror seeps away with hope less dire
than pulsing wisdom of my vanity
that molds the sublime from profanity.

Though I sing charming hymn of holy awe
with soul-enchanting voice of divine truth,
I vow to punish abusers with law
designed for Justice by messiah sleuth
who mocks tormentors for wounding my heart
by tracing way of fortune on my chart.

Abandoned by my father before birth,
I struggle against harsh odds to survive,
then counterbalance tragedy of worth
with even fortune my choices contrive
by building haven from house of the lost
because my father is my inner ghost.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus finds Ophelia smiling calmly as she lounges with her Spirit Fox by the fountain of lost years and gives her strawberries to eat.

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

Their Names In Clouds
© Surazeus
2025 04 29

I hear sad Rachael singing in the field
while weeping at the tomb where Jacob lies,
so I record the verses of her voice
that women for their dead husbands still sing,
even as their homes are destroyed by bombs,
yet the Enchanter writes their names in clouds.

I hear Miranda singing by the sea
where the grand ship sank in tempest of hope
till Ferdinand rises dripping from waves
and brings her the diamond of star-god eyes
which she transforms into the child of faith,
yet the Enchanter writes their names in clouds.

I hear Dulcinea singing with joy
as she milks cows by the giant windmill
where Knight of the Woeful Countenance sighs
with anguish of love that grows in his heart
for illusion of the Woman he fears,
yet the Enchanter writes their names in clouds.

I hear Asenath singing in grove
where dates ripen in exotic sun glare
as ibis flap wings among river reeds
when Joseph arrives after storing grain
and gives her gold grail with three emeralds,
yet the Enchanter writes their names in clouds.

I hear Ophelia singing by the river
where she tends lush garden of blooming herbs
while Hamlet lounges by the willow tree,
strumming lute of the lonely troubadour,
and compares her to the bright summer day,
yet the Enchanter writes their names in clouds.

I hear Anahita singing at dawn
in cave of illusions where demons dance
so Mithras enthrones her on the chariot
which he drives in the streets of Kangavar
where thousands sing hymn of praise to her name,
yet the Enchanter writes their names in clouds.

I hear Cinderella singing folk ballads
while tending castle hearth in vestal robes
till she finds Mercutio in the goat shed
hiding from fierce brothers of Rosaline,
so she bathes him and holds him in her arms,
yet the Enchanter writes their names in clouds.

I hear lonely girls singing in their rooms
as they write gothic poems in jagged lines
which they post on their social media sites,
then dance with aching hearts in weird moonlight
to hide from toxic masculinity,
yet the Enchanter writes their names in clouds.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus reads his book with Songs of Heartbroken Women at bookstores across the country sea to shining sea with Ophelia by his side.

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

New Starting Point
© Surazeus
2025 04 28

I cannot wait for the new starting point,
so I rebuild intricate state of mind
through articulate clarity of love
by sprouting demon wings from broken hearts,
for I can see the new world order bloom
from foul corpse of god that fell from the stars.

Though you may not be able to hear me,
I speak the words of love I want to share
so they vibrate across the universe
and weave our alien minds with secret tales
through advertisement of religious faith
designed by my ancestors from despair.

Startled by exact angle of new gain,
that traps my sorrow in the ringing bell,
I measure vastness of the perfect lake
that bridges distance between our two hearts,
animated by feelings we exchange
with strangers we meet on the signless road.

When beautiful Lamia with gold eyes
slithers from Lake Lemanus at midnight,
I follow sweet enchanting song of hope,
she sings in weird mercurial voice of fate,
to hear dire prophecy with aching heart
when I gaze in sparkling swirl of her eyes.

When luminous phantom of mute regret
cries out with sorrow of her broken heart
to find her child who disappeared from time,
I build another bridge from rainbow beams
while all the evil people of the world
kill each other so we can live in peace.

Till ghost of ringing bells enters my heart
with animated passion of esteem,
I stretch my soul beyond my comfort zone
to allocate fractured portion of life
with honest dedication to transform
from snide indifference to kind respect.

Untextured loneliness of moon-gold light
urges me to dig roots to core of Earth
so I can reinvent my naked soul
with special new mask that conceals my pain
while I wander with Death in drenching rain
because she knows what I have always loved.

Attaining valuable insight to pain,
I decide how people define my soul,
framed by social context of liberty
that shimmers in ethereal air we breathe
because I map the golden way of angst
which leads me back to the new starting point.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus finds thousands of bodies of the disappeared washed up on the shores of the River Styx, so he writes their names and tales in Book of Justice.

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

Gold River Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 04 28

I love the little gold river that flows
between grassy banks of bushes and trees,
so I strip off my name and social class,
and swim nude in the cool water of faith
which cleanses my heart of sorrow and fear
where I float with the cheerful tweets of birds.

Though our great land from sea to shining sea,
teeming with people who work to create
Heaven in their homes to live safe and free,
is now oppressed by vicious tyranny
by greedy thief who hates our Liberty,
I love the little gold river of faith.

Every eighty years in turning of time
we must join forces of our frightened hearts
to fight for justice and freedom for all,
against monarchy, against slavery,
against fascism, and against oligarchy,
so we live as we will, if we harm none.

While I float mute in gold river of faith,
I feel spirit of water forged by stars
shimmer with immortal soul of sunlight
that weaves bright threads of fortune in my heart
to bind my conscious mind to core of Earth
till I begin to sing old hymn of love.

This water flowing in river of dreams
has formed the bodies of organic souls
over four hundred million years of life,
rising as cold mist, floating as huge clouds,
falling as bright rain, flowing in wide streams,
then pulsing in neuron cells of our brains.

Soil soaks water from torrents of rain,
roots suck water in networks of cells,
fruits swell pungent with water of life,
animals eat grass and leaves from thick trees,
and people eat animals, herbs, and fruit,
so we are the water of Earth that dreams.

Following Mercury through swirling mist,
I walk along the river against flow
to explore its way from the mountain vale
where water springs from cavern of the mind
and winds around hills to the sunlit sea
where humans build their stately pleasure domes.

I row my small boat gently down the stream,
past walled gardens where children eat and play
while everyone waves and calls out my name
to offer their thanks for my guardianship
adjudicating peace for every soul
who thrives at home by gold river of faith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus floats in the soul-sustaining waters of the sacred river where he patrols to maintain peace as River God who guards the people with love.

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

Find My Blind Angel
© Surazeus
2025 04 28

I lose my blind angel down by the sea
who gives me tomato sandwich to eat
so I drive my expensive sports car fast
through endless shining maze of city streets,
then lie in grass beneath the apple tree
and throw pink petals in the sky with joy.

With key that opens door of arcane fate
I walk toward vacant seat of prophecy
to scrutinize truth through infinity
so I can build strong bridge across the rift
where river of change flows down to the sea
while I pontificate weird truth of love.

Wise Helius with long hair white as snow
tells each tree in wild forest on the Alps
how beautiful they are with shining leaves
that radiate spirit of gold molecules
which beam from every star in the night sky
to link our hearts in network of bright souls.

With graceful elegance of calm respect
Helvetia bears tall Spear of Guardianship
and leads her people in the wilderness
away from slavery in gem mines of Hellas
to build new haven on lush rolling hills
beside silver waters of Lake Lemanus.

Tending sheep on hills around Lake Lemanus,
Gebrinius strums lyre of Mercurius
and sings with eerie voice of haunting hope
hymn to praise swift forest-hunter Arduinna,
while red-haired Visucia gives pear juice
to travelers who rest in their small fane.

Standing guard on stone walls of Turicum,
Visucius peers through large crystal sphere
as wind flutters his long cape of raven feathers
when he negotiates peace from arguments,
while Cissonia bakes bread and suckles child
who plays with yew bow as his father grins.

Bearing Caduceus with two coiled snakes,
Cissonius drives carriage heaped with goods
for sale to people in small villages
as clever Dream-Bringer with winged feet,
while Gebrinia heals the sick with medicine
and chants spells to conjure soul of Alauna.

I find my blind angel down by the sea
when star-eyed Alaunus teaches my heart
how to analyze current state of being
by observing flow of cause and effect
so I can prophesy future events
to protect tribe of Helvetia from harm.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus journeys to meet three sons of Mercurius, Visucius, Cissonius, and Gebrinius, who welcome their uncle with feast and song.

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

Hestia Tends The Flame
© Surazeus
2025 04 27

Throwing mask of her face on pile of skulls,
Hestia tends fire in hearth of the wood fane
while ravens caw in oak trees by the lake,
then places wolf-fur cloak on her old father
who snores in harmony with cricket song
that rings in blue shimmer of evening dusk.

Tending eternal flame of our world state,
Hestia maintains fire of the family hearth
so billions of women around the Earth
my cook delicious meals to preserve health
of their husbands and children with pure love
who celebrate her skill to nurture life.

Face glowing from warm fire in the stone hearth,
Hestia prepares feast for rebirth of life
when trees blossom again with leaves and fruit,
and supervises Ceraon mixing wine
with Matton kneading dough as Deipneus
brings food on plates for everyone to eat.

Startled awake from sleep in dark midnight,
Hestia finds bold Priapus in her bed
as he attempts to spark her soul with child,
so when she screams for help Apollo runs
to drag the old man from the vestal fane
and punish him with justice of respect.

Wandering signless roads of planet Earth,
Hestia preserves eternal flame of life
that lights every hearth in homes of the world,
till Adonis erects electric lines
on poles of pine in network of hot wires
which powers every home in maze of myths.

Arriving after twenty thousand years,
Hestia wanders streets of America,
still bearing ancient Torch of Liberty,
where homes are powered by electric lines,
so she kneels before lost idol of Zeus
and lays ancient flint stones before his feet.

Tending eternal flame of our world state,
Hestia weaves vast network of copper wires
to power computers which calculate
spiritual truths that flash in vatic eyes
when all our brains dream life with one world view
which process as nodes in her global brain.

Wearing mask of her face with shining gold,
Hestia tends the flame of civilization
which glows in heart of every dreaming soul
who dwells with hope for pleasure and respect
in towns connected by electric wires
spread out from her heart in Cave of Illusions.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus brings wagon of pine logs as offering for Hestia to preserve the flame of civilization in hearth of our world empire Zarathia.

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

Weird Door Of Hope
© Surazeus
2025 04 27

The road of life that winds into the mist
too often seems to randomly go nowhere,
yet if I follow bright light of my heart
that reveals big picture of my dream chart,
I find myself with the people I love
safe in lush garden we create with faith.

Beneath the Tree of Truth where we first kissed
we soon began to feel how much we care,
so we hold hands on winding road of life
to help each other overcome all strife
as we share fruit we pluck from limbs of hope
so trees grow from seeds we drop on our path.

Entranced by dazzle of the flowing stream,
that blocks the signless road of cautious hope
we think leads to our secret happiness,
we sway in beauty of weird dizziness,
then hold each other tight with loyal trust,
charged with essential transience of our lives.

Our years together swirl into sweet dream
as we assert fraught sessions we must cope
with leaps of faith across dark emptiness
that teems with rich bounty of loveliness
so we attend lush garden of our needs
that blooms with fruits rewarding our hard work.

Though we advance on separate paths of toil
in project to enclose our paradise,
we link our hearts with voices of our souls
to ease production through our mutual roles
arranging plants with clear cosmetic plan
to build artificial Heaven in Hell.

Because we speak with language of the trees
to record chaos of experience
in simple catalog of complex thoughts,
we find ourselves becoming strict robots
trapped in hierarchic duty of blind fate
society expects us to fulfill.

To manage sadness of swift-passing years
we frame our sorrow as weird door of hope
so we can hide from monsters in the woods
by carving them as idols of our gods
whose fierce demonic faces make us laugh
when we recount the terror of their eyes.

The road of life that lead us to each other
contrived through random fortune of our hopes
to bring us face to face beside the sea
where we ate fish we roasted on the fire,
so we made meadow of our meeting place
to be garden home of our paradise.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus and Ophelia reminisce about the last twenty-five years of their life together while roasting fish by the lake in their secret paradise home.

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

Humming Room Of Fate
© Surazeus
2025 04 27

With nothing better than love to believe in
Thor creeps along the fence line round nine hills
to find the angel fallen from the sky
who howls in anguish at loss of his star
that burns in aching furnace of his heart
till rain drenches us on the lonely road.

Unwanted places of the dancing dead,
who follow dazzle of the screaming river,
supports the silver sunlight in the wind
that leads Thor to the humming room of fate
where children play board games forever, bored
while their parents work in car factories.

Threading haze of morning with soft voices
of factory workers trudging on wet roads,
the chestnut angel, bearing bowls of doom,
gives poisoned food to children by the prison
who transform into mushrooms with red eyes
that sprout from televisions in the mud.

Venus weaves living moment of perception
with conscious passion of the clinking glass
to drink the whiteness of the boundless sky
while laughing cats congregate in the church
to ask the dead man writhing on the cross
why he never returns till end of time.

Regret for sorrow of the rain-blurred hills
inspires the fallen angel with one eye
to rebuild walls of Heaven from cracked skulls
of dinosaurs who once roamed hills of Earth
despite the promise they may win the prize,
trapped in glass cubicle of fractured eyes.

Rose-cheeked Adonis returns home at dawn
with wild boar he killed on the mountain slope,
then hosts grand barbecue for everyone
who works with his son at the factory,
while Venus, his aging wife in blue jeans,
gives beer to all while smoking cigarettes.

Rain adds rank wisdom to the gushing river
that overflows weed-tangled banks of hope
when Venus sees young Thor lounging alone,
so she embraces him with eager arms
and begs him to expand her state of mind
while bald Adonis fries steaks at the grill.

Falling in the river as they embrace
after rolling on the steep primrose bank,
Thor and Venus drown in flood of desire
while kissing their own shadows in the brook,
so Adonis eyes Juliet with a wink,
but she runs away with Sir Lancelot.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus fishes bodies of Thor and Venus from the river, prays for their souls, then buries them behind the abandoned church.

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

If I Find God In Apples
© Surazeus
2025 04 26

If I find God in apples of the tree,
and not in empty weirdness of the sky,
I cut the apple in half with sharp knife
but find instead the shining harvest moon
where butterfly angel with ardent wings
flies immaculate city of the dead.

Astonished by secret light of the heart
that names dead bodies in the city streets,
I sing love tunes to the sad pregnant moon
who lounges on the broad beach at midnight
after the dream-trippers all fall asleep
swimming in hallucinations of words.

Loud voices of teenagers in the dark
expose awkward passion to transcend fear
by gambling with fate to win the lost key
that opens every house door in the world
depicted in the million-dollar movie
written with broken pencil of the ghost.

Excruciating silence of the sea
hisses frantic with radiator voice
despite ceramic flower pots on the sill
that dream the rainy nights of Arkansas
depicted in the film where ever soul
who thinks they will live forever still dies.

When enormity of this moment shocks
even the cynical prophet of doom,
I walk toward the paralyzed king of greed
whose face will vanish in the swirling fog
that shrouds skyscrapers of the world empire
when curse of blood drips down windows of glass.

Fragile shadow of passionate respect
extends conceptual door of skeletons
to welcome son of Jupiter to Hell
where he stars in the movie about Death
who breaks our bodies into pulsing atoms
which migrate dirt to fruit to human brain.