Archive | October 2015

Don’t Spank Your Monkey For Speaking Its Mind

Minding the Monkey Mind

Monkey Mind’s a behind to mankind; it’s well known
Yet his cover’s been tattered, not being well fed
The thought clinging creature let’s go each with ease
While perusing all Eden’s most sentient trees
Let his reputation be noted instead
As that of a scholar who fears he’s alone

If one just outright ignores a close friend
What’s to expect that that person will do?
Will he curtsy and send a kiss headed your way?
He’d monk with your mind through the night and by day!
It would then serve one right; any heart would construe
Admit he has good points, though spunked without end

The Mind of the Monk’s not a thing to disgrace
The pushing against what one dislikes is futile
If given its daily banana I’m sure
That contrapuntal prefrontal will cure
All the upside down hanging and blowing self brutal…
All erroneous roaming and wandering chase

The Monkey Mind needs direction, that’s all
Though a lulling to slumber will suit it just fine
Don’t curse it or dis it for doing its job
It’s a door to great wealth if you just turn the knob
There’s an interbred kinship among yours and mine
Give life a break; let that Monkey hang tall!

Quadrilateral Bowel Tracks A Hole With A Howl

Quadrilateral Bowel Is Hole With A Howl

Lock on to that hole; do surrend’ it your sight
It’s a moving target deserving attention
Wildly wet blasted touch, such a forceful display
When Nature decides to check in in this way
The mind in Her will does defy comprehension
But follow it, still, even all through the night

…And then on through the day, and then over again
Its meaning thus churning, digestion is sure
Yet, the same old matter ne’er passes away
It just circles the system for day after day
So as the thing dampens we feel more secure
All focus reset for a new now and then

When as innards assimilate ass of eye food
Whom does go last? The hose or the hosed?
When the hole passes this way I will know
Intestinal quickening before solid flow
For a quick selfie I will not have posed
I’d be cut to the chase in excited mood!

Well, Nature’s howl should make news, I suppose
Like any mother, she’ll not be ignored
Whether children act up or they play really nice
Mother Nature’s concern is a throw of the dice
With Her for a mom we are not to be bored
When and how She speaks next, nobody knows

I’m a Happy Hound With My Solid Earth Ground

Solid Earth Ground

Dear Lord, do grant me a Solid Earth Ground
One that is rooted way deep in the earth
Not some cold soldered joint of loose connection
Give me hard-wired harness to ensure good protection
From spurious surges that wreak utter dearth
Upon delicate circuitry where e’er they be found

Isolation, at times, does treat well my device
But that’s only the way my own wiring is freed
Of life’s most continuous noise and static
When I feel some impedance, I break out the schematic
To note any ground in seclusion. Indeed
All grounds well interconnected is nice

Of grounds most agree on a strict trinity
Among Signal, Earth Ground, and Case or Chassis
But for general purpose I’m not up for book theory
The Hum through my sound system drives my head weary
Hissing messes my mind – makes my eyes crossed and glassy
Of that I can find no worthy affinity

God, Bless my sweet Ground; I adore it as you!
It sucks off the small stuff and sends it it’s way
No more Hiss in my listening; I’m dog gone delivered
I’m a happy hound for whose bone he has quivered
Now that this job is done I am ready to play
I am tide to the Earth with a really tight screw.

Under the Radar’s Razor’s Edge

Chameleon

It’s just another blessed day…
Just hanging out and doing my thing.
I’m at home where I roam of domain with no measure.
In the wildest green stew I will always find treasure
‘Never been caught with my ass in a sling.
‘Wouldn’t have it no other way.

Immune to most danger, I’m a cell re-arranger.
I do this quite well – just as easily as thinking.
I can blend like a bug ground in road rubber rug
But my thinking’s like yours; that bug’s not really snug.
Catch a glimpse of me now while your eyes are not blinking
In an instant I vanish the reticent stranger.

An Enigma ignoble, I am rarely seen mobile
I’m best just to keep my behind really still.
There once was a time long before I found rhyme
I would shun my rare gift for a world less sublime
I’ve an army of pigmented soldiers at will
Making sure I’m not seen beneath ruggeded roble.

The only mail in my Outlook account
Are from folks selling dick oil or digestive aids
I become more estranger; no danger’s in store
As I tread sultry slaying the rich Jungle floor
Until when forever your last image fades
Of me showing all there’s no pride to surmount

Adult Detention

TheMagicRealist.com

Sorry I’m late getting home, dearest one.
The kids felt I had to stay after today.
It seems I failed a pop quiz this morning.
They had given me ample time and forewarning.
Yet came time to perform, I fell short anyway.
They insisted I needed to learn to have fun.

It’s funny; I’d thought I had joy down pat.
I have you, after all, and a well fulfilled life
In the most gracious land on this planet earth.
Blessings have followed me since my humble birth.
But the children are wise; of good will, they are rife
And quite ready to party that drop of a hat.

Not much interest in math or obeying school rules
Except for the ones that they make on the fly.
The kids these days are atrociously haughty…
Excelling at whatever is silly and naughty.
Life’s a game to them, and today I learned why.
Their lesson provided me wholesome life tools.

The closer one is in time from our Maker
The more one remembers all lessons worth learning.
That means that all babies are wiser than I
As well as all elders soon ready to die.
That does put me at ease. There’s no sense in my yearning.
Of mirth they’re the givers, and I am their taker.

Does The Doggie Go Through A Life Review?

Will My Doggie Go Through A Life Review?

Will my pooch see a Council of Elders by way
Of transition into doggie spirit world?
My guess is he’ll bypass such rigmarole.
The Council need not greet the hip doggie soul.
He returns well-acquainted; his spirit’s unfurled.
He dashes abliss off in spirit dog play.

In benevolent bow-wow they bow and lay grace
Upon spirit dog keepers who await their arrival.
They frolic in fanciful fun-filled finesse.
‘Tis their honor for taking on human earth stress.
Their deeds done on earth anoint Records Archival.
In heaven they assume their most rightful place.

When in hindsight as ass nasty poodle chews, it
Speaks well to Nature’s intention to guide
The often brass spirit of human endeavor.
And, given dog love, they would bless us forever.
They are unconditional; they have nothing to hide.
When the poodle bites, this alone will amuse it.

Come back to earth, dude, I’ll see you again.
There will be celebration and fanfare galore.
My life span is longer; I’ll wait here for you,
And then we will kindle our bonding anew.
I’m indebted to you… You’re no kind to keep score.
So long, pal, and thank you for being a Friend.

Satan Steps Down As Devil

Satan Steps Down As Devil

Just in the news via Karma Control
His despicableness the Devil declared
He’s quite had it with hell. Do understand,
He’s held the same job since time began.
He won’t be remembered as old and grey haired.
So now who’s fit to take over the role?

Seems the Devil’s been rather dysphoric of late.
The smell of burnt souls no longer delights.
He’s seen it occur over and over again.
People kill over God and shout “Allah” or “Amen,”
Yet over Satan, ‘haven’t been many fights.
The position is open. Who’ll take the bait?

Among yourselves, you wreak havoc and terror,”
He said in a statement released just today.
No one here pays much attention to me.
Hell sure ain’t much like it used to be.
When man out does me, I’ll step out of the way.
Somewhere, there’s a metaphysical error
.”

Then the Devil went on to say
He won’t care if his life work should all peter out.
A burnt out bastard is he. Now that fate’s set him free,
Was his infamous apple picked from the wrong tree?
This news rather shocking’s worth thinking about.
Now Hell has a chance to freeze over some day!

Saline Slipshod and Heidi Hoe

TheMagicRealsit.com

There once was a half-bottomed woman named Sal
Which is Saline for long and just S for real short.
Were it Susan or Sandra, Samantha or Sarah
She’d be salty, still, like the sands of Sahara.
Sal had a good friend who would offer support
With salacious sharp shooting and sedate rationale.

Sal got along well with her surrogate pal.
Her name, by the way, was Miss Heidi Hoe.
They’d talk about all that would come to their minds…
Astute on what friends did with bedroom behinds
And about how to sharpen their seeds for the sow
One might guess one is Femme, the other Fatale.

One day Sal and Heidi got together to see
If they could stir trouble among a few friends
Who’d been sharing behinds with others than theirs.
These two loved to meddle in others’ affairs.
Did they serve up some nasty? Well, I guess that depends.
Their friends knew already; their love was quite free.

Now, as Sal and Heidi came to know this was true
Their scheme was deflated; their gas had been passed.
Heidi said to her friend with the voice of a man,
“No Hoe would come up with a Slipshod plan.
Next time I’ll do nasty.  You do things half-assed.
If we’d have done it my way, they’d be without clue!”

“Well, Heidi Hoe, I’m surprised at you!
First of all, had I known you could talk like a man
We’d have never been friends right from the start,”
Said Sal from the pit of her broken heart.
“I shall now call you Stan and concoct a new plan.
Work alone with your own; I can stir my own brew.”