Archive | June 2018

Political Asylum

TheMagicRealsit.com

Read between what she says. She is smarter than he
Even as his political prisoner there
In the White House where she’s not been captive before.
She can’t speak and act freely. So many keep score
Of how she behaves constantly. Life isn’t fair.
The attention placed on her is more than should be.

And she knows that, so what in the world could she say?
Indeed how should she say it and keep it on point
Without letting us know the details of her pain?
She has married a monster who drives her insane.
It is prudent to chill at some mental health joint
When locked into a circumstance one can’t betray.

Her stark message is for him. It’s to him she speaks.
Though we are present bystanders in their conflict.
This has nothing to do with the children she met.
I believe she does care and can feel some regret.
She cares not anymore how her actions predict
Freedom through dissolution. That’s all that she seeks.

Helping Girls Find Their Voice

TheMagicRealist.com

She has found her heart’s dream helping girls find their voice
Through theater that’s youth driven and well performed.
Many girls she has taken to faraway lands.
Through her efforts she ensures that each understands
Fresh young women’s mystique reminds the uninformed
That all women and men are deserving of choice.

We each choose gloom or happiness, so we are free
Not to look for love outside ourselves on our way
Toward the next new beginning, but to look within
For our value and honor. With self we begin
To be ever receptive and willing to play.
In a world of diversity I want to be.

We have not heard girls’ voices enough. Is this so?
May the answer be found in the way we all feel?
All things come by attraction, and hardly, by force.
There is only one actor, and that is our Source.
We will never come to a world that is ideal
And without every young voice, our progress is slow.

The School System

TheMagicRealist.com

All God’s children need schooling. We’ve made it the law.
Education provides an opportunity
To bump up against people of various views,
And to find one’s own balance among favored clues.
It’s a functioning system, though arguably.
And for most, there are many conclusions to draw.

Parent, student and child can be on the same page.
It’s a matter of knowing we are all in school.
We each teach one another alignment or not
With the Source of wellbeing we may have forgot.
This, the most trusted lesson, can be the best tool
For maintaining one’s balance upon the life stage.

She may say, “Mom, I’m out of here; I’ve had enough!”
As she rampages on in her righteous disgust.
Just remind her it’s OK to quit school and go,
But wherever she goes, her contempt is in tow.
When lessons become meaningless, it’s best to trust
In one’s Source’s curriculum and better stuff.

Fear Is Just Guidance

TheMagicRealist.com

Often times I am not in the receiving mode.
If wellbeing is plentiful, why do I fear
That something could go wrong in the blink of an eye?
Fear is part of my makeup. Should I wonder why?
It’s by habit I contemplate outlook austere
When in truth much blessing is upon me bestowed.

 It’s my own conscious thinking preventing the flow
Of the grace that abounds. I need but let it in.
To relax and then quiet the mind is the way,
Or release into slumber until the next day,
Or direct my thoughts consciously but from within.
I’m afraid of creating from that which I know.

I could see fear as guidance toward more clarity.
I may seek out acceptance in every wrong place.
Sometimes utter wellbeing looks like a fan club,
But all fans fan themselves. And that’s really the rub.
Love is fear inside outward if I will embrace
All of it as a prelude to prosperity.

Moving Past the Experience

TheMagicRealist.com

It is easy for us but not so for the harmed,
Who are too young to understand what’s going on,
To move on past rejection and psychic abuse.
Why not round them up, brand them and then let them loose?
There is no point in asking where conscience has gone,
As it baffles our leader why folks are alarmed.

It’s an Alice in Wonderland tale but surreal.
Either side of the rabbit hole is a strange place
To the other. A brown Alice forced through it will
Be processed or perhaps not. She knows not the drill.
Time may dampen some pain, but it will not erase
What impressions the children have. Are they ideal?

Rabbit holes have no bottom – those this nation makes.
They are seen as deterrent in nature and form.
Tiny eyes won’t remember alternative facts.
They will recall a nation conceived of bad acts
Perpetrated upon them amid a hate storm.
In some time, we’ll know the full brunt of our mistakes.

A Brief Analysis of Some Old Woman’s Fart

TheMagicRealist.com

How does consciousness come forth from putrid bowel gas?
Or perhaps it’s not consciousness – just the effect
Of untold generations of bigoted hate
Justified by religion and blessed by the state?
If convincingly human, it should get respect.
But the cloud it excretes is as foul from its ass.

Many things that are solid indeed have a face.
And some liquids reflect faces, having no choice.
But a repugnant smell has become a faced fart
To make good air not breathable and to depart
From what most know as justice. It thinks we’ve no voice
And its policies stink. It’s an utter disgrace.

This smell wants to fit well in its old woman’s purse
Along with other stale odors of the sick past.
Take her arm, little manhood. Your mama says so.
Were you ripped from your mother some eons ago,
You might now have some backbone. This bullshit can’t last.
Your contrived little crisis can only get worse.

One can’t stomp on a fart as one would a cockroach.
It does have some advantages through its disguise
Of something somewhat human, enough to convince
Most the members of congress as most of them wince.
Someday soon we’ll have fresh air. We will organize.
Your abuse of God’s atmosphere summons reproach.

The Remedy for Chronic Dipstick Drip

TheMagicRealist.com

Well maintained is the auto whose partner is versed
In the art of the oil check while at the pit stop.
If one has a good engine, one keeps it in shape.
He will not take a chance on a narrow escape.
The most versatile tool for garage or workshop
Is one’s dipstick, because if it’s not, he is cursed.

A sure thing about engine oil is it gets hot
To the touch – certainly if examined by hand.
So the stick is an interface withstanding heat.
Nothing else in the toolbox will ever compete
With the dipstick’s performance when adequately manned.
The engine who receives one may wish it had not.

But the graduate stick tends to drip when it’s dipped.
One should leave the thing in there while oil settles down.
Engine hygiene is paramount when checking oil.
If it is taken lightly, one welcomes turmoil.
Wipe it off, and if doing so brings on a frown,
Know that oil, in its essence, remains nondescript.

Longer Life Span

TheMagicRealist.com

I would hate to hang out here for hundreds of years.
That’s a game for elite folk to feather their dreams.
All the rest of us think we would love to remain
Yet the more we compete, the less we can attain.
As technology favors our fool-hearted schemes,
Do we keep our souls stagnant because of our fears?

I’m an eternal being, therefore I know change
Has to be quintessential to such a lifestyle.
I’m designed to spend some time here. Not too damned long.
With each moment that passes something could go wrong.
I entered into contract to stay for a while.
To lock down in this fishbowl would be worse than strange.

Nature knows the recycling gig inside out.
She’s been at it for eons. She’s got it down pat.
We may point to some old text at folks who lived long.
Common sense – not faith – tells me that this must be wrong.
People counted years strangely back then, and that’s that!
I will exit this carnival ride with no doubt.

Is It Just Coincidence?

TheMagicRealist.com

Am I here through my own fault or is it by chance
Or coincidence catered toward seeing my end?
I respond as I do to what guidance I know.
As my spirit directs me, with passion I go.
Why I find myself captive I can’t comprehend.
I alone am to blame for this odd circumstance.

Is the law of attraction in action with me?
Now, I know that there is such a thing. Here I am
Trapped in my own believing that I am carefree
To go after what seems wholesome as I can see.
Hindsight gives me authority to give a damn
About where I embark conscientiously.

How I got myself in this mess is rendered moot.
Time to ponder the answer becomes ever less.
So, it’s ever more sensible to let it be.
There’s no viable outcome that I clearly see.
I am fodder for nature’s digestive process.
Rendezvous with coincidence is absolute.

Contrast and Suffering

TheMaicRealist.com

It has happened and will happen someday to me.
From stardust I became and therefore must return.
I know contrast and suffering as I await
Either nothingness, hell, or the bright pearly gate.
Existence is phenomenal, rigid and stern.
While I’m here, I’m surviving while striving to be.

I must live through the contrast as I carry on.
Each next phase of a long journey can’t be undone.
I can’t turn off my sorrow. It has not a switch.
There’s no way that this moment my soul can enrich.
But I do have the choice to have some hope or none.
Only one will be helpful toward seeing the dawn.

This is true too of agony. I make the choice.
It is easy to suffer when well I know how.
It’s become a bad habit to suffer in vain.
In the depth of my sorrow I have much to gain.
When I agonize, that means I do not allow
What my higher self knows. There is room to rejoice.

There’s a lesson in grieving repeated each day
And each portion thereof throughout all the wide earth.
There are times interlaced deep with memories dear
To the heart and the consciousness dampened by fear.
There’s a death sentence waiting for every new birth.
Those who aren’t here before us have not gone away.

My Guidance System

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s the tale of two selves in a package complete
With identical minds whose thoughts can be the same.
When they are the same, I feel I could kiss the sky.
When they’re not, I feel hopeless. I won’t even try
To see clearly. My feelings do truly proclaim
How much both sets of thoughts get along or compete.

Every self has a higher self and an ego.
Each can think independently of the same thing.
When the ego demands that the bastard should die,
What the higher self thinks is, “Here, love should apply.”
This divergence in thinking within self will bring
On an ultimate gutwrench and maybe some woe.

Myself has a comparator to tell me when
My thoughts start to depart from my highlighted route.
When that happens, I feel bad. That’s simple enough.
As I indulge the ego by playing it tough,
I am locked on the course of eternal dispute.
When my guidance reprograms, I begin again.

A Fresh Coat of Nice

TheMagicRealist.com

Would a Fresh Coat of Nice cover well what’s gone wrong?
Or can such a condition be simply rolled on?
Nice should never be left sealed and on the top shelf
Where no one can achieve it, not even oneself.
There is infinite Nice. It can never be gone.
I may emulate toughness, but it’s a sad song.

Like the soil, somewhat fertile, yet dry to the bone,
Is the surface so thirsty for richness to drink.
Why not lay it on thickly to well saturate
All the areas that have been marred by our hate?
Would I think that our species is missing some link?
Everything is in order. We’re just chaos prone.

Mega gallons of Nice can be sold at no price
As it comes about freely by anyone’s choice.
We apply it in many ways. It matters not
How newness is recovered, and darkness forgot.
When the people pour Nice in one colorful voice,
We may paint ourselves pleasantly toward paradise.

Silent Assed Letters

TheMagicRealist.com

If an actor is silent, why put him on stage?
I have heard of non-speaking parts. That’s not the point.
A good actor can get away with using mime
And may get more across to folks in much less time.
If performers don’t speak, their silence will anoint
The observer’s attention so that he’ll engage.

Let that bring us to letters… the ones that go mute
For a seemingly small set of words that are used.
Silent letters are assy. In fact, they’re a pain,
Though I’ve digested them with the ultra-mundane.
Almost half of the alphabet has been excused
Of a voice in some words. Are they there to be cute?

Well, they aren’t that adorable. Parsley they are
On a plate of potatoes and succulent meat,
Cast aside as the meal is completed, and then,
gathered up with the rubbish to not be again.
All the words that have placeholders playing discrete
Would do quite well without them, and they’d leave no scar.

A Reality Experiment

TheMagicRealist.com

What we can but perceive is a scant few percent
Of the whole of reality, science believes.
So, the ninety some missing, yet meshed with the few,
May suggest we’re important… the universe too.
All the stars that we can see are like scattered leaves
On a vast lawn of darkness seemingly content.

The dark matter, dark energy and other stuff
That the mind cannot fathom yet numbers can prove,
Keep this 3D world going and being so real.
I’m a creature who knows this world because I feel.
When one feels with the mind, one makes energy move.
The Great Whole will deliver ‘til one’s had enough.

This toe dip into consciousness is brought to us
By the ones we can’t see now because we are here
In this space within non-space and time within time.
Was I sent here because I’ve committed some crime?
I came much by my own will to navigate fear.
When I feel satisfaction, I’ve much to discuss.

Everything is of spirit. No substance is real.
All we know is of consciousness and nothing more.
All was thought into being and is kept in place
By the thoughts of the whole of us that we embrace.
This world is an illusion. Do we know what for?
In our spiritual growth, we must learn how to feel.

Schizodemic Panphrenic

TheMagicRealist.com

If a cornflake-shaped elbow scab got up to sing
And you heard it and saw it while others did not,
Would you think you were crazy? Or would you believe
What is real is whatever the self does perceive?
It would trigger a movement bypassing the squat
If that happen to me. I would drop everything!

 In this space, we agree upon things that we know.
We create a strong framework for what we believe.
There’s a fringe always outside the relative norm.
It is not of their nature nor wish to conform.
They may think that the world has a trick up its sleeve.
I would say they’re correct, but I’ve no proof to show.

If this lucid hallucination is for real,
Then there are things that happen that others can’t see.
There are stories spun off from the stories made up,
And as people believe them, they drink from the cup
Of righteous self-deception. I’d hope to be free
To believe as I wish and to feel as I feel.

Tapped Any Ass Lately?

TheMagicRealist.com

David Attenborough sometimes speaks of wild ass
As they cross some huge landmass in mass migration.
All the ass he has tapped are grateful he’s done so.
The man has done some fine work to let us all know
That the tapping of ass is not done just for fun.
It can be educational and done with class.

No good ass is a dumbass, nor is he so smart
That his goodness will save his ass from being caught
Without cover when taking it while lying down.
The best ass is one who knows his way around town.
And the ass who is smartest will not have a thought
Of blind hatred toward women. It’s not in his heart.

As our pieces of ass became pieces of eight
All across the world landscape through eons of time,
Has respect for the feminine taken a dive?
Common sense says without it we will not survive.
I will pray that salvation is not a far climb.
No Old Pig in a silk suit has room to berate.

Annoyed with People

TheMagicRealist.com

What could be raunchier than a rat-licked excuse
Isolated yet taunted by daily routine?
I would rid quid pro quota of note, and I would
Rid the world of its people, that is, if I could.
Sometimes anger is much greater than can be seen,
And most others would see it all as self-abuse.

How do I get myself out of such a hot spot?
I must know how I got here, then see where to go.
This world has much to offer, both wanted and not.
Either fear or desire will reveal what I’ve got
And I do have a choice in the matter, I know.
People aren’t out to get me. There is no big plot.

Everything is a microcosm of the whole,
From the tiniest particle to things immense.
Within each there exists every other, then some,
Along with sharp dichotomy to overcome.
To consult inner guidance does make perfect sense.
I’d much rather be wrong than be without a soul.

What’s Up With ‘Won’t?’

TheMagicRealist.com, The Magic Realist, Magic Realism

There’s a surplus of ‘won’t’ but there is no ‘wo not.’
Why did no one explain this, when I was in school,
That there isn’t a ‘wo,’ really? It’s just a growth
From a disjointed history. Were they not both,
‘Will’ and ‘Not,’ as a pair, solved by judicial rule,
Then perhaps each raw litigant would have no plot.

How does ‘will’ become ‘wo?’ That’s what I’d like to know
Not that it makes a difference. I could get by
Without reaching the bottom of this inquiry.
How the ruling for ‘won’t’ was reached I’d like to see.
Who has judged this contraction the right one, and why?
Did some scene in a courtroom take place long ago?

In Old English, the verb ‘willan’ meant ‘wish’ or ‘will.’
It was ‘will’ in the present and ‘wold’ in the past (?)
Over centuries, too many forms of the two
Were used widely. Versions appeared out of the blue.
Some folks tried the word ‘willn’t.’ That shit didn’t last.
That is why frigging English is such a damned pill.

Getting Past Fear

TheMagicRealist.com

Going through some transitions… Is that not the norm?
I keep changing directions throughout the process.
Contrast gives me some clarity, but I feel lost,
Then I fear I must find myself at any cost.
Can you give me advice so that I feel fear less?
What I need is to unleash the will to transform.

Only knee jerk responses have I had so far
Along each path I’ve taken. All lead to nowhere.
All I know is that I tread a vast wilderness.
I perceive only shadows sometimes, I confess.
I would love to find meaning which I would then share
With all those who will have it. I’d be not a star.

Am I safe in believing that fear is my friend
Even when I’m so fearful that death seems the way
To short circuit existence to end the deep pain?
Any fool with a conscience knows that is insane.
If my fear has some meaning, perhaps it’s to play
A big part in my growth that my soul may ascend.

It’s A Good Life

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s a Good life, America. Don’t say it’s not.
We owe all to the monster who treats us so well.
Nowhere else in our long history have we seen
Such a Wonderful tyrant. Don’t say that he’s mean.
We should all give him praise now, while under his spell.
If we make the child angry, we could risk a lot.

He had some friends to play with. He wished them away.
With the point of a finger he orders his wrath.
It is Good that he does this, though. He can’t do wrong.
If you cannot agree, then you do not belong!
He is Brilliant, and simply a fine psychopath.
Everyday is a Great day. What else could we say?

It was nice in the old time when souls weren’t at stake
And when truth was a constant, along with respect.
But this monster won’t know that. No power has he
To read even his own thoughts, as one can well see.
This sick child of a man will do harm if unchecked.
We have met our own darkness. Will we come awake?

Sedentarium

TheMagicRealist.com

If you got off that lard ass and did some real work
And perhaps breathed some fresh air, would that put a dent
In the thick glass protecting you from the outside
Where reality charbroils what isn’t deep fried?
When the body betrays you, will you then repent?
Get yourself a new lifestyle, you beleaguered jerk!

Everyone needs their bottom line. I understand.
I’ve flipped my share of burgers and scrubbed a few floors.
I could vegetate in a cube from nine ‘til five
But within a few decades, I’d not be alive.
Some communion with nature the spirit adores.
Step outside that cramped office and step on some land.

Incomplete is the life filled with too much to do
And no time to recover from doing too much.
A byproduct of industry life has become.
Sedentaria settle beside the sick slum.
Virtual is the workforce who is not in touch
With some deep sense of meaning for not just a few.

Feeling Some Fear

TheMagicRealist.com

I’m a bundle of energy poised on eggshells
In the midst of a ruckus where I have no place
To live out my agenda. And to my surprise,
What I think becomes manifest before my eyes.
It is through my resistance that I may embrace
Not the most favored outcome where my true heart dwells.

I came here for experience – not to lay low.
Life is chock full of balls of yarn and time to play.
I will trip on some soul-nip whenever I can.
I’m consumed in awareness since my life began.
I don’t want to grow up to be some beast of prey.
I’m someone else among you who’s willing to grow.

I may be a tad skittish. I do play my part
In the scenes that are relevant and make most sense
For a drama conflagrated live upon stage.
I have but to perceive well, then fully engage
All the grace I’ve amassed. Surely that is immense.
Although somewhat unnerving, fear is a fresh start.

Oil and Water

TheMagicRealist.com

Oil and Water don’t mix well. What else should I know?
North and South never ended their all out race war?
Jews and Arabs will always be blood enemies?
Blacks and Whites can’t be equal? That’s not how God sees?
I guest star in a rerun. I’ve been here before.
I am black, and I know it. Gosh! Who tells me so?

Is it you who reminds me, Miss Trash, on your rant?
It’s not looks… rather actions that define a man
Or a woman. One could ask if you’re either one.
A sick child will spew rancor and do it for fun.
If you could have a TV show based on the klan,
You might want not a black boss. I’d think just a scant.

So, a popular loud mouth with off-the-wall views
About just about everything barring the dark,
Crafts a base learning moment. I’m smack back in school.
You ignored the one voice that plead, “Shut your mouth, fool!”
With your teaching credential, you have made your mark.
It’s a shame that the others must now pay your dues.

My Awareness of What Is

TheMagicRealist.com

My awareness of what is can keep myself stuck
On the roadway of life. It is hard to get past
All the sameness. Sometimes I can’t hear myself think.
My acquaintance with boredom could drive me to drink.
I detest holding patterns. How long will this last?
Since this happens to me, does it make my life suck?

I can tolerate traffic when we’re not in cars.
People seem to be not as quick to flip the bird.
Behind metal and glass, one might feel he kicks ass,
But in person, if you raise your fist, he will pass.
While on roadways, some nice folks are easily stirred
To brute force confrontation – but not while in bars.

Keep the mind off the hear and now, and on the road.
Do not look through the side windows at what is passed.
What’s ahead becomes now in the blink of an eye.
And what’s now becomes past fast. No one can deny.
I have tons of awareness – enough to outlast
Any standstill in life where I need not be towed.