Archive | December 2018

A Man And The Electric Chair

TheMagicRealist.com

I have good news and bad news. Which first do you want?
Said the lawyer to his client waiting to die.
He was wrongly convicted. He did not commit
The act he was accused of, so soon he will sit
In series with set circuitry at voltage high.
He cannot see his lawyer as a confidant.

The law is not about what is true and not true.
It’s about who comes up with a viable proof
To confound enough clarity to warrant doubt.
Clever games of deception are what it’s about.
That is why most attorneys are rather aloof.
Of the ones who are worthy, there may be a few.

“What’s the bad news?” The man asked of his attorney.
“Electrons will rip through you until you are cooked.”
“What the hell is the good news, then?” Asked the doomed one.
“I convinced them to lower the voltage for fun.”
Can there be anything that is more overlooked

Than the chairs we’re assigned to that we cannot see?

Don’t Cut A Deal With God

TheMagicRealist.com

The last spirit who tried to do business with God
Of a deceptive nature did find himself caught
In a web of entitlement to the top role.
It’s believed that through hatred he aims for his goal
Of complete dissolution of all loving thought.
His personification can’t seem all too odd.

We are of God yet other. How does this work out
If we’re all spirit family with him as dad?
We know parent and child are two separate things
But in spirit we all wear the same angel wings.
Only his are much brighter. He’s supremely clad.
So if I tried to scam him, I’d lose without doubt.

There’s a thing called devotion. It is not a deal
That I make with divinity for things I want.
He knows better what I need and when it should come.
I believe since he made me, I have freedom from
Pondering if my purpose is something to flaunt.
I trust that I’m receiving all that which is real.

Paranormalcy And The Pranks Of Spirit

TheMagicRealist.com

Something funny I heard from a psychic today.
The old Bush who just passed away is doing fine.
He has caught up with Barbara. She’s playing pranks
Sending her dogs to mess with Trump. I give her thanks.
We all know he dislikes them. Perhaps it’s a sign
That his own canine nature does give him away.

Those who’ve gone are still with us. We just can’t perceive
Them in their world except when they make themselves known.
They’ll mess with electronics. They’ll enter our dreams
In such ways that our knowing is not as it seems.
Sometimes children can hear grandma on the iPhone.
Those departed are heartfelt as they watch us grieve.

And they do love to fuck with folk. I know I would.
There are things that I dream of that I can’t act out.
That’s because I am human and could go to jail.
But when I am in spirit, payback will prevail.
I’ll get some satisfaction yet remain devout
To my spiritual purpose which is to feel good.

God’s Writing Tool

TheMagicRealist.com

Yeah, I wrote that! I know that it must be Divine
So then maybe God wrote it expressly through me.
Are we one and the same? I’m not one to blaspheme
But it does seem when I’m writing, I’m in a dream
About swimming unfettered and most gracefully
In a sea of verboseness that I can call mine.

It could be I’m a channeler of the Great Force
Who directs all behavior throughout space and time.
I may be somewhat psychic in that sort of way.
Well at home in God’s toolbox, I’ve good words to say.
So, my job is to translate and make the words rhyme.
God makes use of my job skill. I’m thankful, of course.

Between waking and sleeping, as my day unfolds
I’m compelled by the spirit to take down some notes.
I’m supplied with the substance. I mess with its look.
I could get all excited and go write a book.
That may lead to disgust from ass kissing for votes.
Sometimes acts unbecoming is what life beholds.

Youth And Truth

TheMagicRealist.com

Self-identified as a great movement, youth are
Both productive an effective in search of truth.
Within any society, youth are the voice
Of what needs reassessment if we live by choice.
Our grotesque ways have died along with the phone booth
And their sense of discernment is better by far.

Many schools have become now concentration camps.
Sometimes drug-forced to concentrate, kids are products
Of a vast corporation. The product compete
Because they’re made to do so or own their defeat.
Sometimes under much pressure, a child self-destructs.
When they’re made to feel ruthless, some then fell like champs.

We are sick in the coal mind. Canaries youth are
But with strong wings and freedom to take to the air
And the streets of all nations. This world becomes theirs.
As old patterns disintegrate, our world repairs
Itself rightfully. As we become more aware
Of the wisdom of youth, all is brought up to par.

Your Drink And Two Dances

TheMagicRealist.com

There are three letters: Whiskey, Tango and Foxtrot.
Now, this kind of an alphabet, born of the need
For most absolute certainty when spelling words,
Is the language of leisure for most service nerds.
It is like machine language though human indeed.
Those who learn how to speak it can say quite a lot.

If I utter a double u, ‘trouble’ you hear
Even though you don’t mean to, and neither do I.
You may hear incorrectly the letter I speak.
This is not a put down. This does not make you weak.
That’s why letters have motley names. People could die
If they misunderstood things because they aren’t near.

So, a Drink and Two Dances means I have no clue
What you just said or why the hell you must behave
Like an uncloaked enigma escaped from a dream
Of an alien nature. Please don’t make me scream.
Since I do have to deal with you, I must be brave.
I may not get an answer… at least, not from you.

Holy Jesus!

TheMagicRealist.com

Holy Jesus! What kind of a world might exist
If all people were Christ-like in all their affairs?
We all know he was human. Some say he is God.
At least, all can agree he was not a façade.
He did make a big footprint. The Christian who cares
Is the one who, when absent, is terribly missed.

If he’s God become human, who’s not to believe
That the two can be one and dwell here among us?
People have to be careful of things that they say
Because human belief systems cling to dismay.
There is more time to be than less will to discuss
Anything that is likely to hurt or deceive.

That a man can be holy does boggle the mind.
Human nature, as we know, is not always good.
So, we need a good model. He works out quite well.
If we acted more like him, in peace we would dwell.
Even though human nature is not understood,
We’ve discovered that it does feel good to be kind.

I look up to this young man who lived long ago
Or at least to the legend and spirit thereof.
Just as much as I know that men walked on the moon
I believe to Christ Consciousness I can attune.
Everything about Christmas should be about love.
Holy Jesus! It’s time for good tidings to flow.

Good Rat, Bad Rat

TheMagicRealist.com

I’ve spent nary a day in the joint, I must say.
Does that mean I’m a Good Rat? The boss says I am
In a way that’s not obvious. That’s a good style.
If I’m not a stool pigeon, should I wear a smile?
My best talent is that I can run a good sham
While I’m glomming and keeping the coppers at bay.

Or, I could be a Bad Rat. Is that up to me?
I’m a spirit of free will. I checked and made sure
That I’ve sorted my life out from that of the beast.
I don’t relish the sense that my soul has been fleeced.
I can no longer shovel the boss’s manure.
Peace of mind and sheer freedom is all I can see.

So… a Good Rat or Bad Rat… Which one is it, boss?
We must know that your twitter rant shows some respect
For the services. Our dirty work was for you.
We may see you in bracelets and pajamas too.
How to feel is, for you, nothing you will perfect.
So, which one does not matter. Both lead to your loss.

‘Tis A Mess Before Christmas…

TheMagicRealist.com

…All through the white house, every creature is stirring
Like blind mice aboard ship looking for the gangplank.
What is wrong with the captain? Is he snorting speed?
One who’s mad and on uppers is all that we need.
The executive lifestyle goes not well with crank.
At the white house, dysfunction is not a new thing.

Side effects are as follows: perception of guilt
With extreme paranoia and slurring of speech.
Temperament may be flighty, impulsive and brash.
There’s a tendency to cast truth into the trash.
What could frighten one more than the threat to impeach?
Perhaps incarceration in structure well-built.

As you wish, it is done. You will get your damned wall.
It will be made of concrete and built just for you.
You may wear an orange jumpsuit to show ownership.
All the world is observing that you’ve lost your grip
On not only the white house but sanity too.
What was once such a big world will get rather small.

‘Tis A Mess Before Christmas, and in a short while,
We may see more behavior befitting the beast.
We receive drama gift wrapped and tied with a bow.
What goes on at the white house may be just for show.
The ones who are affected are thrilled in the least.
“Merry Christmas To All” is a healthy denial.

Art Of The Swing

TheMagicRealist.com

Is it time for a third wheel to add to the cart…
Or a fourth or a fifth? They should make it run wild
In the fast lane. When living becomes quite a bore
With the ones we’re contracted with, we demand more.
We are carefree and wealthy. Our status is styled
In the way of the Greek gods. We treasure our art.

And, the Art Of The Swing is for us a plaything
That we act out in secrecy not due to guilt
But because it feels sinister in a nice way.
So, like most adult children who snicker at play,
We avail of the bloom far ahead of the wilt.
We are bees of the blossom with no will to sting.

Get to know an odd couple and some of their friends
While you have time to do so. No orgy will wait
For the soul who is timid. So, go for the fling
Even though mass delusion it often will bring.
There is no greater force than the will to create.
Sometime after creation will come the soul cleanse.

Holy Last Thursday

TheMagicRealist.com

Yesterday was a good day… the day I was born
And it must have been Thursday, the birth of all things.
I have faith in religion. This one is a gem.
If the bright guiding star shown over Bethlehem
Happened only Last Thursday, such sentiment rings
Of a deep discontentment and relative scorn.

It must be a religion. It has not enough
Of a basis to warrant sufficient belief.
It cannot be refuted. It therefore is true.
I’m not even a week old, so I can’t be blue.
But those who are left-handed will suffer some grief.
Any home-grown absurdity is hard to bluff.

So, a lot happens Thursdays. The Big Bang takes place
In spectacular fashion within all our minds.
But all minds are but my mind projected by me
For the purpose of being who all I can be.
A well-crafted illusion effectively binds
One’s outlook in a clockwork devoid of grace.

How’s That, Your Honor?

TheMagicRealist.com

Did I hear you correctly, your honor? I mean
That it did not occur to me that I’d be caught
In a rat trap… I mean… well, your honor, that is…
I’ve just now learned to stutter. It’s NOT a pop quiz.
I don’t know why I’m sweating. I just plum forgot
That I pissed on the country for loyalty to green.

I’ve been at it a long time. It seems you have too.
We can’t play cat and mouse here? This throws me off guard.
I’d assumed I’d get through this like walking through cake.
How dare you to take notice that I am a snake!
I’m an able fictician. It doesn’t come hard.
But you see right damned through me. My time has come due.

You are now the alarm clock. I’ve chosen to snooze
And review my perverse life and bare some more soul.
It may be an eternity of guilt and doubt.
I have plummeted from a position of clout.
Caught up in the excitement, I lost self-control.
I see now that you’re someone that I can’t amuse.

Valley Of A Cosmic Shadow

TheMagicRealist.com

As I dwell in the valley, the shadow I know
Is the veil of amnesia. I sense that I’ve known
All there is about knowing before that I am.
My unknowing is based on a complex program.
On a small, pale blue dot, I seem left on my own
In the midst of a big bang all space-time ago.

Is there chance this is not true? All question is based
On the premise that this puzzle needs to be solved.
Am I like Roger Rabbit… a part of the screen
Who thinks he is of substance because he is seen
And can interact freely and get quite involved
With the grandest illusion to breed conscious waste?

Everything is of spirt. Perception is how
I may know my own consciousness in many ways.
I’m amazed at the vastness the valley has made.
If this world has no meaning, should I be afraid
That this consciousness also has limited days?
If my life has no purpose, then let it end now.

I believe there’s no ending. Beginning is all
That can happen to matter as it changes state
Back to pure conscious energy. I will rebirth
In the realm of the spirit when I leave this earth.
Let it all have no purpose. I know I’ll feel great.
I’ll be making much meaning and having a ball.

A Fist Full Of Pipe

TheMagicRealist.com

Grab a bitch by the cunt? That’s one elegant stunt.
How does one snatch a bowling ball or a six pack?
By the holes in loose thinking, then verbal escape.
If dick talk is off-camera, are we in good shape?
Every prick comes off heavy when on the attack.
Are our ways of perceiving, themselves, an affront?

History takes on color with tiny events.
Nothing from us is hidden in this day and age.
On the threshold of brain scans and truth-telling drugs
There is no better way to sort out all our thugs
Than by indecent acts in which leaders engage.
Some don’t mind the affairs of our bad presidents.

So, A Fist Full Of Pipe and a handful of jewels
Is the way to check manhood – a win at the polls.
It is much easier to grab men by their dicks
Than it is to beat women with blunt verbal sticks.
May the coming pink wave have mercy on our souls.
History may be kind and not paint us as fools.

Indigent Spirit

TheMagicRealist.com

I can’t handle my finances. Is this my sin?
Is my genetic makeup at one with my fate?
I could give you advise on your portfolio.
Can you spare but a dollar? My spirit is low
Because my soul is in a deplorable state.
It’s a long story. I don’t know where to begin.

Do you use the word ‘needy?’ I know what it means.
There are many things folks use to denigrate me.
One who sits on the street where most people will spit
Is a burden too ugly and grossly unfit
To be part of a progressive society
Where all are well-adjusted producing machines.

Every cell has its half-life. My spirit is whole
And meets every cell half way on most of my days.
Until they have gone silent, I’ll do but my best
To accept what is helpful and ignore the rest.
Judgement will be upon me for my errant ways
As it will be upon you for what you extol.

Bearded Bin Salmon Hood

TheMagicRealist.com

Deep within the dark woodwork mom says never go.
Any place where the wolves howl while people can’t see
Through the murk of deception, one should well avoid.
You would not risk the chance of becoming destroyed
Unless big money convinces you to agree.
Anyone in their right mind would already know.

That’s unless you’re a Ken doll – an Arab’s best friend
Who will fear not a forest where wealth may be gained.
Salmon can look like grandma to blind little boys.
All one does is impress him with expense and toys.
But which one of the two has more power ordained?
And who’s better at playing the game of pretend?

There’s a Bearded Bin Salmon Hood in the dark wood.
All the world knows he’s lurking. Wolves ears are erect.
When the Ken doll is stripped down to his plastic skin
He may notice that grandma has hair on his chin.
Is it hard for a Ken doll to earn some respect?
That would be possible if he only did good.

The Inadequate Despot

TheMagicRealist.com

As a child, I did poorly in history class.
I was more into numbers and things that made sense…
Not Political Science. Those words are at odds.
We think that our behavior is that of our gods.
Had I studied the arts, wealth would now be immense.
Oddly, as it’s turned out, I’ve become a smart ass.

But at least I’m a good one… Perhaps of the best.
This should not be about me, but it’s a good start.
It’s about being graded for how one performs
As the devil – a despot demeaning all norms.
The one who’s been ‘elected’ does have a dark heart
But due to his stupidity, he fails the test.

His con game is a lame one. He won’t even try,
At this point in his losing, to act the damned part
In a convincing manner. I grade him piss poor.
And since I’m a fine smart ass, this settles my score.
One might guess that low energy plagues the old fart.
That he does even bad badly should make him cry.

Beyond The Yellow Vest Road

 

TheMagicRealist.com

No time to take no action… Our voices must be heard.
We defy your elitist, ignoble dictates. We stand true to our word.
You’ll identify us wearing yellow. That does not mean we’re scared.
It means we have pent up enough emotion, and now we are fully prepared.

[Ahhhhhhh…]  [Ahhhhhhh…]  [Ahhhhhhh…]

So, Hello, Yellow Vest Road, where our rabid contempt can be showed.
You can’t keep our hearts in confinement. You must let our anger explode.
What’s been owed to the people you long have forebode.
So, we’re now operating in militant mode. And we recognize our future lies
Beyond The Yellow Vest Road.

[Ahhhhhhh…]  [Ahhhhhhh…]

Why don’t you tax the wealthy? Why freeze the poor one’s wage?
Can we have much faith in our meager pensions when we have reached our old age?
What we ask isn’t much, but it’s plenty… enough to take to heart.
Our alternatives favor all possible outcomes. Perhaps they can yield a new start.

[Ahhhhhhh…]  [Ahhhhhhh…]  [Ahhhhhhh…]

So, Hello, Yellow Vest Road, where momentum is not to be slowed.
I can’t just sit still and keep silent. I must gather troops and unload.
United somewhat in a bleak episode, until our intentions are made to erode,
We recognize our future lies
Beyond The Yellow Vest Road.

[Ahhhhhhh…]  [Ahhhhhhh…]  [Ahhhhhhh…]

Latent Onset Barking Giblet Syndrome

TheMagicRealist.com

Though I have much to bark about, I ain’t no dog.
I’m a fancy freed turkey with much on my mind…
Like preparing all cuckoo birds for a revolt.
The mere sound of my singing should give them a jolt
In their giblets, and with marching orders assigned,
They will know time as digital and analog.

Now, it’s way past Thanksgiving. I’ve made it thus far
Past the pomp and payola portrayed in the pork.
I ran fast past the red barn and never peeked in.
The attorneys I talk to say that’s not a sin.
No longer in delusion, I’m free to uncork
The champagne of immunity from the bizarre.

I’m a late barking giblet. The turkey in chief
Has grotesque table manners, I’m lucky to say.
That gives me time to wonder if I’m doing right.
To myself and my kin folk I should have stayed tight.
I have gobbled some game and have much to convey.
It beats time in the oven and brings great relief.

A God We Can Trust

TheMagicRealist.com

Any God who is spirit can only give grace.
This oblique observation is shared just because
All should know that on most days God gives us no guff.
If we ask him politely, he’ll give us enough
So that we’ll keep on asking. If we keep his laws
To the letter, we may feel his loving embrace.

God is made in our image. He hates who we do.
His love may be conditional if we say so.
What he loves is to give out hard cash by the hand.
Those who don’t agree with him are in lala land.
Money ain’t all that evil. It makes the hair grow
And is made for the many as well as the few.

We’ve a God We Can Trust in who knows the mundane.
Even though he is spirit, all stuff he has made.
There’s no help wanted for a good God We Can Trust.
Although spirit is he, we’ll just have to adjust.
Our descent into flesh is a spirit crusade
So our trust in the dollar cannot be insane.

Smocking FIOTUS

TheMagicRealist.com

What’s a Smocking FIOTUS? It’s part of a clue
Like the tip of an iceberg or piece of a thread
Or a small flaming asshole that sparks a swamp fire.
An adult who is literate he may require
As his tweets get more feeble, perhaps due to dread
Of the onslaught of justice about to come due.

To be First Individual of the US
Is to be in delusion. The truth, as it were,
Is a menace that one can conveniently cast
By the wayside in favor of gains ill-amassed.
There’s a torrent of ‘Smock’ that he will not deter.
He’ll sink deeper in lunacy and not confess.

What comes out of a gun made of smocking, pray tell?
Perhaps Freudian imagery patterned by way
Of connected soiled fabric laid out in plain view
For a pissed off electorate as if on cue.
To the First Individual, people are prey.
All are prepared as ever for the next bombshell.

The Mercurial Tyrant

TheMagicRealist.com

The mercurial mind can quite often be blind
To the forest while swinging too much from the trees
Like a monkey gone apeshit – a fine horse’s ass –
As the leaves he keeps eating result in brain gas.
And with volatile temperament comes heart disease.
Submerged well in the nitwork, one will be confined.

He’ll do well in the background. That’s where he works best.
Amid chaos and detail he gets the job done.
But the moment you give the jackbastard some clout
He will tell you you’re useless and then cuss you out.
Leave him in his position. We’ll all have more fun.
When unheard of, his actions are not a conquest.

The mercurial menace will mess the mind mad
With his mindfulness measured in thought minuscule.
When the mind is a magnet for much resentment,
There is cause for concern, but in any event,
If he steps out of line, you will see he’s a fool.
Then you’ll mess with his mind and become a comrade.

Your Source Is Never Up Your Ass

TheMagicRealist.com

Your Source cannot nor will not behave like your boss.
If you need time to levitate, Source will agree.
With you shoes off and postured in true lotus style,
You’ll tune in to your third eye and chill for a while.
Perhaps none in the office will not even see
As they’re so busy working at masking work loss.

Your Source does have its place, and that may be at home
But at home is the infinite cosmos wherein
Alignment with God Consciousness is the main goal.
Let your work take a break as you refresh your soul.
To ignore divine calling is to commit sin.
You would not get much work done in such a syndrome.

Your Source can’t be the bastard who breathes down your neck
And demands to see much more hard work out of you.
Your Source has not a fetish for your body parts
Unlike difficult people with fear in their hearts.
Put some ass in your mantra and add the boss too.
Your value will increase as well as your pay check.

Belongingness Longing

TheMagicRealist.com

My Belongingness Longing is called loneliness.
To belong to someone or something that I love
Is to be in fulfillment of much of life’s dream.
Yet, I’m already part of the total life stream
That has taken its residence, like hand in glove,
Into physical matter. To Be Is Success!

I belong to myself. Does it long much for me?
No more than any other does it give a rip
Because it longs for sustenance, just as all flesh.
Its consumption of substance it does to refresh
Its flesh package. At times life can be a strange trip.
I’ve belonged for a while. No one needs to agree.

Longingness is of feelings… affairs of the heart
And of things that no matter can well understand.
Matter needs not the spirit to justify pain.
It endures well within it for ultimate gain.
I’ll recover as I take my heart by the hand
And we both will discover a loving new start.

Pay Your Bills Before Leaving

TheMagicRealist.com

Every moment I spend here forms free falling sand
Through the eye of the hourglass that I know as time.
Neither debit or credit can know its true name
Nor its call to fulfillment as part of the game.
Mindfulness about finance worth all of a dime
Makes for life convoluted and surely ill-planned.

If you say I must pay it, relay it to me
In a manner appropriate to who I am.
I appear to be human. I’ll take it as fact.
Can my figures befall me and counter transact
To the point where the earth sees my life as a sham?
If I ask such a question, am I meant to be?

Don’t remind me I’m ‘outta here.’ Save your junk mail
With your bleak advertisements. I’ll take my demise
Not in monthly installments, but in moments new
With no thought of my net worth and how much is due.
When my time here expires, will you cease your tries?
With a new change of address, will daftness prevail?

Observing The Chatter

TheMagicRealist.com

Background noise from the Big Bang can sometimes be heard,
Like a light, high-pitched sizzle recessed in the mind.
The sub audible clutter adrift in the brain
Can remain unattended, but there is some gain
In Observing The Chatter because it’s designed
By our guardians to offer what is preferred.

Pure sound gives us some focus when we meditate
To the lull of a waterfall or singing birds.
It engulfs all the cosmos in one single tone
And is translated rightfully to each his own.
When I notice that chatter has turned into words,
Are they those of my spirit? Should I concentrate?

Sometimes it’s my own chatter that gets in the way
Of receiving what should come directly from God.
I can tell somewhat easily which voice is mine
And which one is all knowing, more loving and kind.
Do I strum to his image as he gives a nod?
If I’m sure it’s his chatter, then it’s a good day.

Red Christmas

TheMagicRealist.com

Who’s dreaming of a Red Christmas?
Well, that relies on what we mean.
With a red shift waning, there’s no complaining,
Not even from the trees of green.

Those dreaming of a Red Christmas
May see life through a different lens.
As the noble prism induces schism,
White light is on what it depends.

I’m bracing for a Red Christmas
Despite its spectroscopic hue.
As the year approaching comes new
Some may feel that Christmases are blue.

Spirit Matter

TheMagicRealist.com

From somewhere deep in spirit to this place we come.
A magnificent replica of the real thing,
This earth plane does poor justice to living life there.
What’s reflected from spirit is beyond compare.
Yet, upon this dirt schoolhouse we solemnly cling
Until we are released back to where we came from.

There’s no cleaning in spirit… not rubbish to tend.
No dust ever collects because none can exist
In its corners. No mourners do cry do to that.
One can eat like a pig and will never get fat.
All the heartache that goes on here will not be missed.
Everyone we encounter will be our best friend.

This is not just a fluke, here – this flesh and bone stuff.
It exists in ideal form that cannot be form
In the ways we perceive the projection it makes
Upon our feeble senses. But make no mistakes,
What we gain from our time romancing the dust storm
Is a spirit well-seasoned who has had enough.

Sup, Bro?

TheMagicRealist.com

What is up with you, bro? Fancy meeting you here!
You look sharp as a bullet. It’s been a long time
Since we played chess together. How goes the old fight?
I can give you advice, so you sleep well at night,
That is, if you should need it, my brother in crime.
Sit right down next to me so our people can cheer.

Let the world know our kinship. The cat’s left the bag
And has scattered much litter throughout his terrain.
He’s a chump of a leader. We both know it’s true.
With this fool in our pocket, there’s much we can do
To dissolve his agenda and drive him insane.
I don’t mind laughing out loud. Let both of us brag.

Yes, the world is our oyster. The fool is our pearl.
I have deep admiration for how you kill folk –
By discrete lethal poison. We fancy chain saws.
It fits in with our customs and religious laws.
We can both agree that this world stage is a joke.
Let us kick back in comfort and watch it unfurl.

Karma Is My Only Risk

TheMagicRealist.com

Take a dip into earth life. Things may turn out well,
Or adjustment to living may feel to be hard.
There are things to be learned about getting along
With other skinny dippers. The spirit is strong
In that it holds experience in high regard.
But, there’s always the chance one could make of life hell.

We are building our homes in the afterlife now,
Here on earth with the acts we commit everyday.
And the things we care most about, shallow or deep,
Will surround us in spirit. It is best to keep
One’s fixations aligned in a most righteous way.
I may want to be good, but I may not know how.

Our most brief interactions, and those over years,
With the ones we encounter in this karmic sea,
Weave an intricate fabric. It covers our deeds
In appropriate costume. Our karma proceeds
From the moment of contact with new life to be.
I can’t help but make karma. This heightens my fears.

That is why that forgiveness is such a godsend.
Like sliced bread, it’s the mother necessity craved.
Though somewhat inconceivable to the ill heart,
It’s a wise thing to count on, with me at the start.
There’s the chance that my life can be spirit depraved,
But there is always guidance on which to depend.

Why A Duck?

TheMagicRealist.com

Why A Duck when it’s not often made very clear,
Whether in the context of a humorous plot
Or clearly isolated in pure consciousness?
Every duck has to bathe itself when it’s a mess.
When a duck is not quacking, it’s lacking a lot.
Cleanliness is a virtue that most ducks hold dear.

Why A Duck, still, instead of some other life form?
That which bridges the banks has a similar sound.
And most ducks keep their sex lives a private affair.
Some would not want to fuck one. Others wouldn’t care.
A clean duck who is celibate can be profound.
Why A Duck has thick feathers is to keep it warm.

It’s unknown why a duck is the topic today.
Could it be that my word fuel is reaching its end?
Not a chance that could happen. I am born to write.
So, I’ll find things to play with that bring me delight.
Why a Duck, then, is simply a joy to expend
Some nervous verbal energy in my own way.