Archive | February 2018

One Could Argue

TheMagicRealist.com

One could argue. But why? Does it make any sense
To sound off to a brick wall that’s hot to the touch?
Walls of all kinds get built and reheated each time
There’s the feeling that there’s someone’s tree one must climb.
If one wins in an argument, does that mean much?
When life crosses the line, things can get quite intense.

Where is rightness or wrongness? Does God point the way?
If the One God could make up its mind… maybe so.
But one god tells the other god, “Damn you this day,
Because my god commands you to do it Our way.
If you don’t, then to hades your dark soul should go.”

It’s no wonder this world is caught up in dismay.

One could argue for righteousness and for world peace
As did many before us throughout history.
There’s a frankness in fervor for what one holds true.
Our diversity quandary is nothing new.
Many minds mitigate manifold mystery
In attempting to sort out which rightness must cease.

Ready To Be Ready

TheMagicRealist.com

Life is full of momentum built up over time.
It accumulates quickly when we’re at our best
At creating whatever we think most about.
It may seem that it’s best to hold on to one’s doubt.
Yet, our readiness comes at our true heart’s behest.
When I choose to be ready, I get off the dime.

Having fallen from high, and with parachute none,
What advice would one give me, should I ask for some?
One might say, “Just hang on. It will be over soon,
And your soul may just vacate before flesh is strewn
On the pavement.”
I can’t easily overcome

What I’ve built up before me… before the long run.

I can dare to be ready to be ready for
The momentum I make in my meek-minded maze
By allowing each moment to see the next through
To the next, and the next, until each now is new.
I am here for the run of life – eager, always,
To be ready for more journey, forever more.

Eternity Is Just More Now

TheMagicRealist.com

As the grains of sand pass through the sphincter of time,
Do they represent moments held dear to our hearts?
If they all did, then life would be much like a dream.
We might bore ourselves senseless since things always seem
Quite the same. We’d be wanting for frequent fresh starts.
We mix contrast with moments to make life sublime.

The concept of eternity boggles the brain
As the brain remains finite and part of the whole
Of the structure defining this physical place.
So, the brain has no substance – no more than its space.
Yet, within it all, there is the eternal soul.
If we discount this aspect, we may go insane.

The illusion that there is a problem with time…
That it needs constant maintenance, is held by some.
But time needs not a fixer. I know it to be
But a framework for what we call reality.
All eternity is where all nowness comes from.
To delight in my now gives full meaning to rhyme.

There’s A Tune In My Tank

TheMagicRealist.com

There’s a tune in my tank. I have no one to thank
But myself for believing that I know the way
To achieve my true resonance naturally.
It’s the best way for my mind and heart to agree.
When I’ve found the right frequency, I’ve much to say.
When I’m not tuned correctly, my mind draws a blank.

One divided by two pi times root of LC
Is the pace I keep up with without knowing how.
I need only know why. How means nothing to me.
The pure source that delivers is all that I see.
When the heart and the mind are both centered on now,
Then they act like a flywheel for source energy.

I can’t give my tuned tank circuit’s tuning control
To another. No one knows my tuner but me.
I can tune it away from what feels to be right.
But if I keep that up I will soon feel uptight.
I can practice my tuning most confidently
When I know that the tuner, indeed, is my soul.

Things… Are Always Working Out For Me

TheMagicRealist.com

Every Thing has a knowing. A consciousness is
Therein present and viable, whether or not
One believes that it’s so. Some believe it can’t be.
Yet our science has proven this to some degree.
Even thoughtforms are living. This can’t be forgot
Because as we’re forgetting, we get a pop quiz.

Things are made up of thoughtforms that have taken shape.
We give consciousness to them and then let them go.
They will cluster like stardust an act out in kind
With whatever vibration they are of like mind.
They exist to respond to us. That’s how we know
We exist in a world with no subtle escape.

Things are working out always for me and for all.
We are all things made up of things made up of life.
Therefore, thinking of things, and then feeling to see
If my thoughts are of value and satisfy me,
Is like cutting through soft butter with a hot knife.
Things are meant to act For me, as they I enthrall.

The Blissful Behind

TheMagicRealist.com

The most blissful behind has not much on his mind.
That he has one is kind of a nuisance to him.
So he keeps the thing quiet. Most anyone can.
It takes some time and practice for woman or man.
Draw your shades, take your shoes off and make the lights dim.
As you do this more often, folks think you’re refined.

There is no one more kind than a blissful behind.
And quite by the same token, assholes are a pain –
Not in theirs but in mine. I must keep those away
Who would treat me unkindly and dare ruin my day.
As I meditate often, I’ve so much to gain.
I was meant to be loving, trustworthy and kind.

I’m no stranger to chaos. That’s why I must take
A brief time-out to let the old mind take a drain.
It’s a nice tool for bridge building. That’s a good thing.
But it needs counterbalance and soft nurturing.
If my behind can’t get it, I may feel the pain
For my being too negligent for my own sake.

Satanic Rapture

TheMagicRealist.com

With six hundred and sixty six sins on my soul
I am ripe for a rip roaring rapturous rage.
I’ve completed my mayhem. It culminates now.
The next coming of Satan is certain somehow.
We can now disavow the Aquarian Age
As complete devastation has become our goal.

Make me weak in the knees and float lighter than air
As it all becomes darkened through chaos and smoke.
Let the air reach a flashpoint much lower than earth
That our hate may deny any chance of rebirth.
Many folks create horror through dreams they invoke.
We believe they are nothing. In fact, we don’t care.

I’m a beast of this nature that now has a rash
That is acrid and prickly, and sensitive to
All the subconscious inhuman cries of our hearts.
Simply looking within is where true rapture starts.
That our souls are renewable is known by few.
And this world we’re concerned with, someday, will be ash.

Our Daily Bread

TheMagicRealist.com

Is the love of Our Father the love of mankind?
The man part of mankind may believe that it’s so.
But the woman part may have done well in its role
Had the tables been turned and they had much control
Of complex social structures. How much could I know
If I thought with my heart and I felt with my mind?

Yet I shouldn’t feel guilt should I cast not an eye
Upon what may distract me from what is my whole.
There is wholeness in everyone – even in he
Who believes he is hopeless most obviously.
Not a thing I can do can recover his soul.
As the next one ignores him, how soon will he die?

I’ve been down on my luck. I get out every day
And see all kinds of people – some needy… some not.
Then, I think of Our Mother. Who else could that be
But the woman who gave birth and took care of me?
We are cellular siblings. When put on the spot
We know daily delivery is the right way.

Virgin Eyes In The Jungle

TheMagicRealist.com

There are many small eyes in the jungle these days.
Some are human and some can be rather high-tech.
And these woods we’re a part of form our own disguise.
May we watch as young virgins uncover their eyes
To pure visions of Indigo without a speck
Of the old social order and all its sick ways.

Virgin eyes don’t see chaos, though… Only Pure Light.
They shine wisdom upon things that seem based in fear.
When they act out or disrupt the normal discourse
Of malignant behavior and rule by brute force,
We should take a time out and lend them a sharp ear.
We were put here for loving. We’re not here to fight.

Virgin eyes versus spies is not quite the whole game.
I could wander far deeper in denseness of growth
To find things in the jungle that cause me unease.
If I see with my eyes what the virgin eye sees,
I may see where my place is and realize that both
My perceptions and attitudes cause me no shame.

Loud And Livid Delivery

TheMagicRealist.com

Though one’s innards be livery, does all the bile
That accumulates due to frustration pent up
Cause the outburst of anger with volume of voice?
Is it sometimes predestined or always by choice?
If I sound off to others, am I the sick pup?
When I view this in hindsight, it seems it’s my style.

When I think you won’t hear me, I tend to get loud.
It’s a knee jerk reaction. I’ve little control.
Therefore I must stay vigilant of my ill beast.
I do lack others’ patience. I know that at least.
Perhaps long isolation would comfort my soul.
I’m a hothead. I’m neither ashamed nor too proud.

Sometimes ‘special delivery’ is the best way
To ensuring one’s intent is taken as real.
If my mood takes a nose dive, I must be prepared.
That our good times and bad times are equally shared
Is my premise profound toward the best way to feel.
I can let off some steam and still have a good day.

Shitweed

TheMagicRealist.com

I do know why you’ve stopped me, dear officer, sir.
Your expression of disgust speaks louder than words.
Yet you need not concern yourself with all the smoke
As this weed that I’ve got here is truly a joke.
I have smoked lots of pot, but this stuff’s for the birds.
Take a toke for yourself. I’m sure you will concur.

What is up with good weed these days? It’s hard to find
And then when it is found one must pay due respect
To the in-between bastards who break the shit down.
I’ve been getting my stash, these days, from folks uptown.
I’ve smoked three joints, by now, but alas… no effect.
So, don’t bust me because I still have all my mind.

I’ve been smoking this shitweed. No good stuff have I
And it’s been that way always. I haven’t felt great
Since I visited Thailand some decades ago.
Their good shit got me wasted and moving quite slow.
So it’s not like I’m moving fine goods across state.
This old rotgut for pot here is not worth the try.

Just Here To Visit – Not Here To Stay

TheMagicRealist.com

If I weighed almost half a ton, would ankles work
With four pairs of two screwed tight by no engineer?
How I ended up here seems a puzzle today.
Now that I’ve lost my parking space, then must I stay
In a constant upheaval endorsed by my fear
As most often I feel like a well-behaved jerk?

I’m not here to do odd jobs. Who told you that lie?
Was it me through deficiency in self-defense?
It can seem I’m the nice guy for doing jack shit.
It’s a subconscious bugbear that stings quite a bit.
I would tell folks to stick it, if I had some sense.
I don’t know what I’m doing, yet foolish to try.

Do most people fuck with me be because I am slow
In the mind a bit and of a social IQ
That’s as low as the oil stains on life’s garage floor?
I fucked up for you this time. I’ll do it some more?
I can do that so well. Surely I never knew.
Since I’m here for the visit, I might as well grow.

Depreciated Accumulation

TheMagicRealist.com

Is the cost of true living more than life itself?
It’s a question that’s asked often this time of year.
Sam needs fistfuls of dollars to keep him afloat,
So he says, but the dollar is just a bank note.
It depreciates for those encumbered in fear.
There’s no wonder the leprechaun is a green elf.

To accumulate cash, then protect the big stash
From the hands of the state, is the story of life.
A balloon that’s inflated can hold lots of air.
But as soon as it bursts, there’s much cause for despair.
I make, cumulatively, my notions of strife
Such a reason to make life a paperwork trash.

I made out like a bandit this time. So did he.
Is the system so flawed that it can’t be that way?
…Just a few dollars shy of my having to claim
Any social security – My, what a game!
It is one, as I’m human, I’m willing to play.
I depreciate less when I’m willing to be.

Where Went The Sun?

TheMagicRealist.com

There’s no sun anymore. Mommy, where did it go?
It seems all of a sudden dark clouds have appeared.
And where has all the color gone. Have we stood still
For so long that amusement can no longer thrill?
What can seem so outrageous is no longer weird.
If there’s not a safe ride, what is there I should know?

If you tell me the answer is nothing at worst
I’d delight in my knowing my mother is wise
Not to make divine providence something it’s not.
Neither state nor its deepness can hide from a lot.
But is such a bleak picture too harsh for my eyes?
If it’s not always daytime, are sometimes then cursed?

I think I know the answer, dear mother, since there
Is a guidance inside me and you. It’s the same
As the instinct that keeps creatures light on their feet.
That there’s darkness afoot is somewhat of a treat
…Often sillier than the old usual game.
We’re all in it for fun, and we need not beware.

The Best Cure For Toe Fungus?

TheMagicRealist.com

Let us talk about toes – yours alone, by the way,
And that fungus they’re fettered with. You know it well.
Who am I to send email to you with advice
Randomly about getting your feet smelling nice?
Well, I must be an asshole. Most people can tell
By the sheer lack of meaning in what I dare say.

It seems, now, that my inbox and spam box are twins
Who play offense with insults and off-the-wall crud.
I’m a fish in this ocean. As you cast your net
Most escape by derision. You get what you get
When you’re dragging your lines way too deep in the mud.
What would you like to sell me as my patience thins?

You assume I have fungus as if the world knows
I’m a registered specimen stripped of his rights.
That’s not even the case. Where the Hell are you from?
You sneaked into my inbox like some kind of bum.
Yet, I’d be but a fool if my temper ignites.
I know no one but me is in touch with my toes.

As Thoughts Turn To Things

TheMagicRealist.com

People’s thoughts turn to things just as birds flap their wings
As they transit from season to season each year.
Transformation is subtle as vision is fooled
Into seeing abrupt change. This is overruled
By our knowing that big dreams are vivid and clear.
What the mind can conceive of, the universe brings.

Eggs will turn into creatures of some kind, we know,
If they’re left to wellbeing and nature’s goodwill.
Did the egg come from nowhere? Or was it conceived
Of all thoughtform congruent and fully believed
To be viable for nature’s will to fulfill?
When thought blooms into being, then we tend to grow.

Thoughts could turn instantaneously into things
Were it not for this space-time and all of its laws.
It’s a good thing it’s that way. If we had no chance
To redact every bad thought, a grim circumstance
Would befall us. What’s worse is that we’d be the cause.
Dare to think with perception just as the bird sings.

A Sicker Present Means A Weller Future

TheMagicRealist.com

I’ve come down with thick growth, but I’ve been here before.
It is not like I’ve never been sick in my life.
Yet, I tend to recover and get stronger still.
That my children betray me is not of my will.
They confuse what is natural with what is strife
And they act as if they think their mother’s a whore.

This disease that I have is not such a big deal.
I could take it or leave it, and I have my way
With all life that comes forth from me and by my grace.
I can beat my dear children at any arms race.
So, what reason is there to allow them to stay?
It’s a noble chance spin of the grand karmic wheel.

I will get better soon as this wave washes past.
There have been many wars now, and that’s a sure sign
That my children have grown up and will soon leave home
And find more earthlike planets to conquer and roam.
One might think that my sickness is rather benign
As it lacks in significance and cannot last.