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A Defiant Tone

Impervious to Outrage

Love is much about secrets kept from everyone
For the ones who in gaiety only find room
In a safe-fitting closet to let their hair down.
Every human deserves a good night on the town
With spectacular plumage and scent of perfume.
Resolution in vigor cannot be undone.

Conflict with friends and family is the routine
Most accustomed to. Argumentation ensues
Like the touch of the feather that tickles the truth
And releases the war hero from the phone booth
To defend most aggressively progressive views
In a world that regresses to depths most obscene.

Defiant are those willing to dance in the light
With enlightened conviction to be who they are.
Darkness feeds fearfulness and the acts that it breeds.
As light casts away fear our whole species proceeds
Toward benign evolution. Can we go that far?
When in darkness we’re blind. Does it make sense to fight?

Pro-Lifers For Death

Values In Conflict

A Hot Day for a Hanging with tea and some shade
Or a damned bitter cold one with no common sense
Is a day worth rejoicing our own Christian way.
We’re a large group. Hear what ignorance has to say.
What is chosen as scripture is for our defense.
If you’re bad You Should Die, for from God you have strayed.

Submerged in allegory, the bible inspects
The collective unconscious who knows what is right.
Mirroring human nature over centuries,
It’s a vast pool of answers arranged to appease
Those who haven’t been saved yet. Ours is a tough fight.
Any darkness within us the bible protects.

It was in the beginning as it should be now
That we be the police force of moral concern.
Life remains ever precious ‘til we decide death
Is what God has decided. With our dying breath
We continue to teach to all fools who would learn
How to judge and what actions should raise the eyebrow.

We choose life over death. Women must know their place
In this kingdom on earth. As the earth, she is made
To be plowed through and walked upon by everyone.
She must take it in stride just as God’s only son.
Turn the other vagina, and don’t be afraid.
The abuse you receive now is of Eve’s disgrace.

Every fetus brought forth is a function of man.
Created in God’s image, man knows what is best
For the seed he as planted in anyone’s land.
Pregnancies are all wanted because they’re man planned.
It is vital that our view is firmly expressed.
Living is much to die for. It’s how all began.

Inflatable Leadership

Rubber Extravaganza

Runaway inflation of the powers that be
Resembles that of thin rubber stretched to the max.
Hot air made more expensive as vote time draws near
Is bought up at a premium for the austere
Presentation of platform. Who dares to relax
When there’s so much at stake for the best nominee?

Must one be like the creature who puffs up its face
To appear more ferocious to fend off attack
In a civil democracy? If this is true
Then would staying full blown be the right thing to do
To maintain proper governance as a comeback?
Personalities must expand for the big race.

Our time-honored tradition of pumping up pride
Has evolved over centuries to what is now
Problematic as ever. But it’s what we’ve got.
Civil war seems most likely the sinister plot
Of dark forces incumbent who’ve taken a vow
To reveal all the weaknesses we’ve failed to hide.

Amazon Used To Be A Rainforest

Earth Monitization

In the heart of the Amazon stark terror reigns
In the form of a mastermind focused on need
To be someone outstanding in all life’s affairs.
But what of our earth mother? …The hell if he cares.
The intent that’s been hijacked all because of greed
Is now yanked from our consciousness. Bullshit remains.

What to think of a phrase such as ‘Amazon Prime?’
It sounds more like a choice cut of rainforest beef.

It remains though a green place. There’s big money there.
Any name with virginity needs to beware
That some jerk with a master plan will be its thief.
Soon our toolbox of nouns and verbs will escape time.

‘Amazon’ is a good name. It should not be lost
To the whim of big business. Let’s leave words alone.
They’re conceived to bring meaning and make things more clear.
We’ve devolved to the point where no words are held dear.
If you think my concern is a bit overblown
Think of misunderstandings and all that they cost.

The Miss Pearline Club

Soiled Senility

In a stinking club outhouse in poor negro land,
Elder hens with their sharp beaks first pray to our Lord.
To be Christian is part of our slave masters’ ways.
Should we take what we get and then give those dicks praise?
Christians jumpstart the habit of making folks bored.
The loud lull of hypocrisy is less than bland.

It’s the club of one person whose name is Pearline.
Everything that the club does is all about her.
Why an elderly narcissist is catered to
Has to do with submission to her point of view.
I cannot work well for her. The truth I prefer
To the spew of a fuckwit whose sense can’t bee seen.

It’s The Miss Pearline Club. Boy, did I shit the bed!
Had I known of its true name I would not have joined.
I thought it was a club for all kinds of old folk
But it’s just for old black women whose minds are broke.
Old men are of some value. From them is purloined
Every scrap of soul dignity before they’re dead.

“Why not flush the damned toilet?” My words reach their ears,
But from there, there’s a disconnect, or there’s no brain.
I’ve attempted to do it, but there’s a big lock
And the thought of my breaking it puts them in shock.
My shrink told me to quit. Much I’ve offered in vain.
I can now see beyond how this cesspool appears.

Affluenza Vaccine

Unspecified Disquietude

Life is full of abundance. All children must know
That all good things are wonderful. They attain worth
By the feelings we give them. But things exist here.
Dense is this dire dimension though sometimes most dear.
Every child should experience comfort and mirth.
Should behavior befuddle, then how must that show?

How could one feel neglected in paradise found
With no effort nor struggle? Need they have concern?
It may not be apparent. If true, we are blind
To our most valued assets – the fruit of our kind!
Life cannot get so complex that we can’t return
To more wholesome relations and sharing unbound.

Interact with emotion. Avail of your time
To their own daily drama. Should they seek advice,
Let it come from the one who cares for them the most.
The responsible parent need not be engrossed
In the ethics of “coolness” and how to be nice.
What they need is attention, and this is most prime.

Trollfactory Bulb

Toxic Awareness

Fake spam comments from Russia a half a mile long
Are the only ones I get. At least I exist.
Yet you need not enlighten me. My sense of smell
Keeps me mindful of danger. Though you may excel
At controlling behavior, your work is dismissed
As a dark and faint echo of having done wrong.

At least write in plain English. Cyrillic I don’t know.
It looks too much like hogwash imbedded with spew
Of the coldest resentment the heart can withstand.
You can speak with my accent. I know that you can
Act as if you’re the best friend that I ever knew.
I became keen to your sickness some time ago.

I once worked at a factory. Dog food they made.
I lasted ‘til near lunchtime. The smell made me sick.
I don’t feed my dog dog food. I know better now
How people out gross animals. I made a vow
To trust in the olfactory. Smell is the trick
To discerning the fear bear. I am not afraid.

You’ve invented the troll farm. We know that by now.
Trolls are lowly paid workers who work with no light.
They can see what they’re doing by watching we fools
As we flail about aimlessly with broken rules.
What I offer to all is my deepest insight
For what it may be worth and what you may allow.

Negative Conclusions

Awaiting the Verdict

Learn To Cry! Your prescription disqualifies me
From the positive outlook evasive to some.
Is my vision distorted? Do you know the cause?
Can the clue to what is now be found in what was?
Stick a dick in my sick mind. See if you will cum.
Fear and doubt plague the present. How can I be free?

Try to find some compassion? Untether my heart
From the grief, pain and sorrow to others I’ve caused
In my fight to be righteous in my twisted ways.
Give me hope for the future. Bullshit me with praise.
Seeking outside connection, true progress is paused.
If I must go on living, I need a new start.

My conclusions are baseless while dwelling within
This homemade dissolution I may well deserve.
Hopelessness is an option. I need but one more.
May my life provide many that I can explore?
Negativity teaches, if I have the nerve,
To prepare for its lesson then let it begin.

Attractive Differences

Outstanding Feminine

Sparkling fresh and unusual changes occur
In my everyday manner. Clearly I stand out
Like pure life among statues – metallic in ways
That my heart cannot fathom. What change can they praise?
A romantic adventure would without a doubt
Be enhanced with excitement as I would prefer.

Life is fine, and disruptions are welcome today.
They look like opportunities to take a chance
In believing the universe honors my back.
Positive are the outcomes when I’m knocked off track.
To be drowned in self-pity or maintain my stance
Is a simple decision. I feel I’m at play.

 Differences Attractive defy circumstance
Of belligerent nature. I need to let go
Of all that which is stale from incessant non-use.
I alone am the jailer who can set me loose.
I relate to ex-prisoners, as we all know
How complacent captivity holds us in trance.

More Arguments

Face Wars

Legal Ordnance doth fly as the Eagle must try
Like the dickens to get its discomfort across.
Unexpected encounters of the social kind
Take on added significance. Some are inclined
To blame their instability on the coin’s toss
Or the acts of ‘the other’ as laws may apply.

We’ve become quite the coin, now, of binary face.
We’re of primary color yet shy just a few
Of the ones deemed essential. The sight of the old
Only replays the nightmare. I am self-controlled.
I’ve become too complacent in that which is true
Yet I feel the commitment to argue my case.

Arguments and Agreements, because they compare
To most basic dichotomies, share the same core
Which, in essence, is freedom from stagnant discourse.
Language should be alternative to using force.
Having played in the crossfire, should I want for more?
It makes sense to speak softly and to be aware.

Speaking And Listening

Need To Be Heard

Clear communication is a goal I may reach
With the folks I’m around in my daily routine.
People sound off profusely, but not much is heard.
I am one who once thought that speaking was absurd
Until I was coerced by the social machine
To come into my humanhood fettered with speech.

I recall how soft spoken and timid I was.
My first words were a stutter yet standard in form.
Then there came learning language and testing how much
I could absorb the techniques, aesthetics and such.
I was told I was troublesome… Not of the norm.
People think that all children should obey all laws.

I now often speak loudly… At times with some force
As I sense competition is part of the mix.
So, on goes the adventure. To Listen is then
Something I must learn also. Never has there been
Such a time as the present to learn some new tricks.
Had I stayed autistic, there’d have been no remorse.

Toy Surprise

Anticipated Excitement

Should I wait ‘til sunrise for my big Toy Surprise?
I could do breakfast now while erupting in bed.
No one else needs to join me. From in my small room
I can text who I want to to postpone the gloom
That would otherwise show me that I am mislead.
If I have to be friendly, then can I be wise?

It began with the boomers – those crafted amid
Times of rectification of their perceived wrongs.
They invented invention, then put it on stage.
Those who followed have carried us to a new age.
A deep inherent restlessness clearly belongs
In the process evolving as it always did.

Wherein lies the excitement? Within the device?
That seems somewhat perverted, yet it matters nil.
Such may be said of my complicated machine.
Had I contact with others, I wouldn’t be mean.
Do the toys that I play with rob me of free will?
Need I have them to know if I’m naughty or nice?

A Wishy Wash

Global Laundry Crisis

It’s a wash no one wishes on anyone’s world
When within one’s right mind there is nothing to see
But full drawers of clean laundry. Do Not take a breath
As the smell of this cleanliness may cause one’s death.
Citizens who of left mind just want to be free.
What has been convoluted must then be unfurled.

Many billions of children at play in their rooms
After many an eon have left earth a mess.
We are not home alone, as our mother is here
Yet our father is elsewhere, not meant to be near.
We’re hard pressed to invent him with any success
And the unending filthy wash cycle resumes.

As the traitor species, we’ve made ourselves awash
In our own filth and grime. But we are like the child
Who attends not to discipline. We’ve no concern
But for needs of the moment. What then can we learn?
And can our past activity be reconciled?
As we look at our laundry we’ll lose our panache.

Spectral Shades Of God’s Darker Thoughts

Surreality

When God Thinks, life is born, and all good things take place.
Would one think that divine thoughts are lame like our own?
No! They’re complex and powerful. They’ve become real.
Our thoughts, when we direct them, can get us to feel.
But the thoughts of a deity make flesh and bone
And endow them with nature’s protection and grace.

So, how come there are good and bad ‘thoughts’ that exist
In the mind of a being who is only good?
One would think that omnipotence knows not of bad
Nor would want to create such a hell, I might add.
Boredom is then established though not understood
By the soul of creation that is not as blissed.

Oneself Blessed into Boredom could Be the Big Bang
If no other selves offer to make themselves known.
I would call mine a good self if I were but one
And the only one being. I’d then create fun.
Could I not see how I’d become wayward thought prone?
From one simple good thought the whole universe sprang.

We’ve control of our thinking, thinking we belong
To the set of all thoughts that God will entertain
Throughout all of existence and unfathomed time.
How to return to good thoughts from mayhem and crime
Therefore can be pursued with the hope of some gain.
Perhaps, reaching that point, we’ll have transcended wrong.

Simulation

Dual Reality

To each person this world is a Simulation.
Altogether they make up one reality.
Most finite in its realness, it structures the mind
To think that it’s of essence and clearly designed
By one other than oneself. This isn’t to be.
We don’t really exist here. Nothing has been done.

We each create our own Simulation before
It’s combined with the six billion running right now.
It is done as a lesson to learn to behave
And make sense of our feelings and how they enslave
As we make the best of them, then manage somehow
To return to the infinite being much more.

Arrogant is the judgment of anyone’s worth
In this live Simulation. Free will is ours all.
We must act as if people here really are here
And do honor fully what they truly hold dear
Lest the whole Simulation become our downfall.
Our becoming a part of it begins at birth.

The Most Elegant Muscle

The Fractal Nature of Biological Process

With its fractal-like structure, the iris compares
To a doughnut of fluid suspended freely
Of its own subtle substance. This muscle of grace
Is a wonderous marvel as much as deep space.
It’s a keen work of art, and it helps us to see.
We make use of it constantly in all affairs.

Why the iris has color and complex design
Is a thing known to something much larger than we.
So we can only wonder. As we speculate
Perhaps that would seduce us from feeding our hate
While it prepares a space where we all can agree
That survival depends on our being benign.

The iris is constructed to limit the light
That can enter the orbit. Too much light will cause
It to grow tense and full. But too little light will
Make for full relaxation. Its nerve is made still.
We can honor the elegant iris because
It’s a blessing to those of aberrant insight.

World Water

TheMagicRealist.com

Treated like a commodity water becomes
Something taken for granted while fearing its loss.
Water can’t disappear. What the earth contains now
Is the same that it always had. But to allow
It to be where it’s needed, we must come across
Better means of surviving than twiddling our thumbs.

This is no call to action. It’s practicing verse.
My thumbs each know the space bar and take equal turns.
We are made much of water. Life water contains.
Water can flow through earth as the blood flows through veins.
May we find a solution? Our survival yearns
For consensus of consciousness of our own curse.

Rivers are fed by glaciers and forests, we know.
There are no other sources. The glaciers recede
Because of global warming. That’s still a debate
Rather than an alarm bell we can’t obfuscate.
Most the forests are gone much due to human greed.
To bring back our world water, we must let life grow.

Hard Drive

Spatial Data Exposure

How much storage is left on this thing we call earth?
Many people have lived here since it’s been in use.
People may be concerned that we’ve not enough room
For the future. Indeed, we have visions of doom
At our own hands. We are like a virus let loose
On a path of destruction. What’s come of our worth?

We’ll admit it’s a Hard Drive to get to the top
Of one’s chosen profession or life as a whole.
Every life lived is sequenced in logical ways
That defy what is heartfelt through most of our days.
Perhaps defragmentation is good for the soul.
It’s not like we can find a new Hard Drive to swap.

Silicon is like plastic we cast to the sea
To outweigh all the life there. We’ve made of the air
Something suited for vaping. A bleak humansphere
Is not something that has to be looked at with fear.
There are way many people who fervently care
That this fast spinning Hard Drive continues to be.

Momentum At Rest

The Motionlessness Apparent

An explosion in slow motion, as it takes place,
Is a consummate spectacle to human eyes.
As we place ourselves out there in body and mind,
We remain optimistic for what we may find.
Have we looked enough inward that we realize
What the nature of time is and how it makes space?

This star system created a vivified rock.
On the surface evolves a thin skin of smart moss.
It has leaped off the earth now to kiss the cosmos
Without asking indeed if it wants to get close.
If we stayed where we are, it would suffer no loss.
That, to many a human, may come as a shock.

Does it seem like it’s moving or standing quite still?
That pertains to our chaos as we find our way
On this Mother we’ve come to know as our birth place.
We exist through a larger will we can embrace.
There are ways to align self to live out each day.
When momentum is graceful, life can be a thrill.

Dirty Double Dog Stare

Benign Absurdity

May we be made aware of the Double Dog Stare
Most specifically, the discrete dirty ones?
Truthfully, dogs don’t give them. They get them from us.
When they behave more like us, we make such a fuss.
They have become, for many, our daughters and sons
And when they misbehave, we still give them our care.

I cannot take for granted what’s in a dog’s face
Because it leads directly to that creature’s heart.
The connection exists between mind and the soul.
Each can know of the other to make knowing whole.
They are friends with much love and wisdom to impart
To the whole of humanity as a sick race.

We have keen double vision in how we believe
Our realities mingle. This is how we are.
Is it used for survival within our complex
Constructions of necessity? Nature objects
Such a notion of grandeur as much too bizarre.
Other species can learn from us how to deceive.

 

Cosmosis

Procession of Existence

The direction I’m pointed to is, by design,
Not of worth to the cosmos nor who they contain.
I believe it’s a good thing. What else can I do?
It’s become calisthenic when my heart is true
To the point of the exercise. Yes, for the brain,
Which is part of the cosmos, this effort is fine.

At six seconds per page view, this site is on track.
A deep sense of fulfillment becomes firmament
Above firm, fluid calmness. I’m playing my role
As the fool of the gene pool with no special goal
But To Be and respond to the obscene event
And to keep on existing without looking back.

I Was Here. Who need know that? What sense does it make
That I can feel significant only by means
Of the chronic Cosmosis, contracted at birth,
That makes me need attention to be on this earth?
Being sociable this way is not in my genes.
So, should I write a book to compound this mistake?

Simply being alive means I’m doing my thing.
Should the cosmos become not aware of its own
Then it must defy logic since I do exist.
When I’m gone I can know that my words wont’ be missed
Because they’ve been lent to me so that I be shown
What a glorious outcome this process may bring.

Rationalization Of Pain

Objectification Of Fear

People utilize pain pills. They do a fine job
But they are problematic and otherworldly.
Addicted to their side effects, folks then become
Naturalized as an alien. Feeling made numb
In an effort to banish pain but completely
Is a crisis most urgent. Life Force does it rob.

Yet there is a solution to deal with deep pain.
One can look at it upright and study its parts.
In a rational context they all look like fear
That the way of existence is rather austere.
The nerve throbbing profoundly is how it all starts.
It is good to know that pain is not felt in vain.

I cannot dramatize it nor give it import.
As a signal, its job is serene and secure
Like the crash of electrons throughout their highway.
Drama only moves traffic and causes dismay.
If pain is seen as plastic, may I then endure?
Would I feel much less of it were I to fall short?

Verbal Storm

Thought

Our thoughts are like the weather. From out of the blue
They are born of a nothingness wanting to be
In connection with other thoughts. They coalesce
Out of need for expression. Life isn’t a guess
When they’re free of distortion and mental debris.
When they are well constructed magic one can do.

Thoughts need words to communicate much of the time.
Many ways to convey thoughts are at our avail
That are strictly nonverbal. Much art is this way.
So sublime a dichotomy can’t but portray
Possibilities boundless and rich in detail.
To get our points across is the thing that is prime.

In the space that is parallel to what we think
Is a vortex syllabic and vast beyond sight.
People learn how to speak well, but what does it mean
When words yield much confusion and actions obscene?
Words proceed from our thinking, and knowing it’s right
May be what keeps one balanced and well in the pink.

Saint Peter Was Once Just A Rock

Mineral Tribute

I take metempsychosis as I do most things
Like a big grain of salt I can study with care.
Those before me, like Plato and Pythagoras
Were most elegant thinkers no one could outclass.
Before I had heard of them, I was not aware
Of the bounty of wisdom philosophy brings.

The most unified theory of all that exists
Is so woefully wanting. The puzzle remains
Hopelessly uncompleted. I want to know more
Than the flesh can reveal. I have been here before.
From a source otherworldly the wise one obtains
Information restricted as nature insists.

There is never an ending. The Big Bang is part
Of an unending cycle of absolute change.
Consciousness is infused throughout all the expanse.
Everything is a soul which is given the chance
To evolve through all matter. Does this sound too strange?
For a ride in the Theme Park, it’s somewhere to start.

Keep It Simple

Simplicity

How can I keep things simple? My life is complex
Not because I’m a Virgo, but that I’m alive.
Saturn transits my Neptune at ninety degrees.
My wake up to reality gives me unease.
Somewhat lost in confusion my ill thoughts deprive
Me of life force and clarity in all respects.

The depth of my uncertainty too is unknown.
I don’t feel that I’m meaningful in a big way
Nor do I feel connected with those of my kind.
Until Saturn moves onward, the fog in my mind
Will try to hang above me and damage each day.
I must know I’m still worthy and not so alone.

I’ll rely on simplicity in my routine.
I’ve collected much clutter. It’s not justified
As a part of my makeup. It’s locked to the past.
I need to Keep It Simple and remain steadfast.
This thing won’t last forever. I’ll take it in stride.
It’s a time to examine my truth and come clean.

Toward A More Natural Order

Economies of Order

It’s a nonverbal language of lucid morphemes.
Acquisition or learning are possible ways
We may come to express what we see as our truth.
It is best that we learn how to speak in our youth.
That’s because when we’re young we put fun in our days.
We all read from the same book, or so it all seems.

Is there natural order to how life evolves?
Can we find a predictable sequence within
Spatial substance suspended adrift in the mind?
If the mind fights with nature, is it well designed?
All pragmatics, semantics and syntax are kin
To the global phonology as it revolves.

Language is as it should be… a social disease.
Subdivisions of virulence grow big in size
And compete for world dominance and point of view.
We become more programmable and less askew.
In the common collective we can recognize
How to become more fluent as our nature sees.

Freewheeling Abandon

Freewheel

A visit from Uranus to Venus is like
Having Santa’s elves over to Feng Shui your heart.
I review my relationships. They need to be
Shaken from their sclerotic routines as I see.
All that I’ve become part of could use a fresh start.
To hell with an old mindset. My will is to psych.

That I do well. It’s not like I’ve not what it takes
To discover new ways of relating to all
Who indeed are my brethren. Commitment I give
Only to more excitement in all that I live.
What had been strong and stable has become banal.
When the heart becomes unstable, the soul awakes.

Uranus is the rebel rouser in the sky.
He brings on inspiration to seek out new ways
Of defining our values, our tastes and desires
…Those things that are of Venus. My spirit requires
Artistic stimulation, as my mood will raise.
Venus will be upset when Uranus drops by.

The Anatomy Of Feeling

Color Vibration

Electrons paint our feelings as they flow through nerves,
And like all good conductors, the nerves in return
Propagate waves magnetic, attuned to their flow.
Waves traverse space with great ease and complex cargo
That consists of our moments. I want to discern
What my feelings are made of as my heart observes.

Yes, the nerves are like wires. We’re much like the machine.
Our electrical systems respond to Ohm’s Law.
When our moments are transmitted and then received
Nerves within the receiver, so it is believed,
Replicate exact patterns felt and without flaw,
Though we may not perceive them unless we are keen.

Knowing deep pain or pleasure, each have the same feel.
Our high current protection limits either one
So the rational mind can measure in detail
What it is that we’re feeling so life can prevail.
We can re-tweak the system so that it will run
Like a fine feeling engine. Is this not ideal?

Unmasking The Face Of Fear

Beneath The Mask

Do I fear the unmasking? What horror awaits
That I should know is coming by guilt that I feel
At the pit of my gut? Why this sense of surprise
That I have something coming? I wear a disguise
That is known as the ego. It is grossly real.
I cannot feel wholehearted when it dominates.

The ego is a force field that works like a lens.
It reflects what is inside outward but with flaws.
Our perceptions are finite. We use them to deal
With this rigid reality, damned to conceal
All that is not of this world and bound by its laws.
When the ego dies, that is the moment life ends.

Do I fear my undoing or fumbling head on
To a possible train wreck, or living in grace
Among those who I equal? What can penetrate
What I sense as my force field can cause me to hate.
What reflects back into me in time I will face.
The fear will cease completely when the mask is gone.

Toward The Soul’s Inner Truth

Remaking of the Soul

Many times through the year Mercury takes a break.
In his flight through the beltway he seems to sit still
Then track backwards, as if he’s retracing his trek.
When it happens folks complain their lives are a wreck.
Actions must be repeated. We all know the drill.
Simple things go awry. It can be a headache.

That’s not all it’s about, though. What lies at the heart
Of miscommunication is just an alarm
Sounded gently and frequently so we’ll review
Old ways of doing business and then make some new.
When we examine him closely we may disarm
How we feel when he’s retrograde in any chart.

Scorpio is his resting place, and for a while
We will be healing venom. The Truth of the Soul
May restore what’s been poisoned to healthy potion.
It’s the time that emotional cleansing be done.
Conversation in honesty can be the goal
Lest we remain indignant and stuck in denial.

Retrograde means re-knowing the path we have made.
Mercury, in his moonwalk, resets weakened ties
Or releases them if they’re no longer of use.
And in Scorpio, dark ties and secrets profuse
Are revealed. They will no longer hold their disguise.
The Soul’s Truth is a substance no one can evade.

The Ease Of The Sneeze

Nazality of Being

In a slow-motion instant a function takes place
In the body that makes people spray DNA.
Often it’s irritation from an allergy.
Many things can bring on one, and people agree
That “God bless you” should be said, if but to convey
Some concern, as if God may be stingy on grace.

My maturity plummets upon its approach.
I become less than grosser a lighthearted child
While expecting a big rush. The high that comes on
I will ride like a Ferris wheel until it’s gone.
It seems somewhat orgasmic as I become wild
Like a horse that’s been freed from its stringent stagecoach.

All but most of a sudden is all that it takes.
In a synchronized sequence the plan is played out.
The brain tells the eyes, nose and mouth to shut down tight
Then the stomach and chest muscles convulse with might
While the throat remains open, dispelling all doubt
That explosive expulsion, the whole room awakes.

People respond to sneezes in various ways
Depending on their culture and things they believe.
Always it’s a fine gesture to wish someone well.
Lord knows we could use more of it. Who cannot tell?
We need not show concern, though may yet be naïve
To the ways nature blesses us and gives us praise.

Those Who Watch Us

Providence

The cosmos is expanding, so it creates space
At a rate most phenomenal – faster than light!
In that space there is substance, but not very much
Compared to all existence. Creation is such
That space is the main product. It has taken flight
Like a bat out of nowhere with nothing to chase.

Why there is so much space being made, and so fast,
May remain a grand mystery to the best minds
Until we come to know some things well understood
By the ones who are watching us, not for our good
But for close observation within their confines.
They would not interfere even if they were asked.

They have not come to harm us nor help us at all.
Their mindset is collective. Some have never met,
Yet they’ve joined for one purpose. It is not their goal
To prevent self-undoing of the human soul.
If they acted, it then would be seen as a threat.
Space contains all existence. That’s why we seem small.

The Nodes And My Modes

Lunar

The moon’s nodes form an arrow. It has a force field
That is grossly magnetic. It pulls on the earth
As it points to the way that my spirit should grow.
On the wheel of the natal chart, it’s good to know
Where the point and the feathered part were at my birth.
Therein are profound secrets that must be revealed.

Some folk say it’s a dragon with a head and tail.
But it makes not a difference. All see the same.
We all came with some talents that we perform well.
We have also deficiencies that often tell
Where we need to put focus. I cannot disclaim
Where the arrow is pointing, so I must prevail.

From the earth and the intellect, I’m pointed to
That which I cannot fathom. Aquatic and vague
Is the nature of nonsense and being at ease.
I find comfort and safety in my expertise.
I cannot just avoid what is not, like the plague.
I have come to seek balance, and it shall ensue.

Ping Pong Brain

Half Brains At Play

Do I not have a whole brain contained as one piece
Of the bodily puzzle? They say that it’s split
Down the middle. Each half has its ways to process
Cognitive information and how to express
Its version of reality. When they are fit
They can play well together. Good health can increase.

Constant communication defines how this pair
Can fit two sets of focus in one frame of mind.
It’s the corpus callosum that bounces the ball
Back and forth through the consciousness. If it should fall
Neither side takes a hit. Their game is of a kind
That will only continue. There’s always a spare.

We are binary beings – bipolar to some.
Separate are the functions among the same mass.
Mastering much of meaning, the mind mitigates
Or adds to our illusions as social primates.
Both the artist and scientist are of one class.
We may pray that the game never has an outcome.

The Heart Of The Drama

Cosmic Play

At the heart of all drama there is a time stamp
That relates to all others, so they interact
To provide a performance upon a grand stage
Big enough that all creation wants to engage.
Astral bodies don’t govern us but do impact
The deployment of actors and where they encamp.

The big space sphere surrounding us, studded with stars,
Is a glass ball of ether suspended in place.
The particulate matter caused to flow adrift
Each have unique identity. This is a gift
And a practical guidance for the human race.
All the specks in the cosmos are our avatars.

The performance is ongoing. There is no end
To complex combinations. The drama at play
Is for whose understanding? Whom does it all please?
Information recorded over centuries
Has been used by production crews unto this day
To enhance entertainment for all who attend.

Data Loss

Disgust

Putting all eggs in one basket does me no good
For who knows when the next scheduled screwup will come?
Data are much like eggs these days. I’ll cry out loud
Because I’ve put my trust in someone else’s cloud.
Now I feel kind of empty like I’ve been struck dumb.
I can see I own nothing. This is understood.

Do I own the Machine or is it lord of me?
That I must ask the question should give all some pause.
I’m not all for technology. It serves us well.
In return, though, it puts people through lives of hell.
Common sense remains missing from our noble cause
So some end up as losers, unfortunately.

So, I’ve lost all my data. I’ll just start from scratch
Like the birds of the barnyard do better than I.
Eggs are easily made, but containers are not.
Can I make my life simpler? I’ll give that a shot
Since there’s no other choice other than to comply
With humanity’s master. I’m free to detach.

Thoughts Are Things

Thoughtfulness

Thoughts are thought to be thoughtful in that they are not
Of definitive substance that one can behold.
Ethereal is their essence. They hide in the brain
Where no others may reach them then dare to complain
That way too many thoughts are thought and it gets old.
They are fluff like the feathers. That’s what we are taught.

Thoughts are much more than nothingness trapped like a school
In a translucent medium waxing adrift.
Often harder than metal, they can pierce the flesh.
They can also create subtle traps that enmesh
One’s good life into chaos in manner most swift.
They can lift one to sainthood or make one the fool.

All our thoughts are magnetic, induced in the nerves
As the movement of thought fragments by electrons
Causes energy thought waves to radiate from
That source which has created them. Now they’ve become
Airborne soldiers of fortune with hard erections
To provide all the real things the thinker deserves.

Spilt Milk

Perceived Waste Or Abundance

Things to do over Spilt Milk remain to be few.
Surely this is a good thing. There’d be many more
Reactions to make possible… most, not of worth.
Every moment conceals an abundance of mirth.
It is how I perceive things that I let life pour
Into my blessed bowl. Let it drench me anew.

Over Spilt Milk I watch from a vantage point far
Above all that is happening as it takes place.
I see also from close up, since I am right there
In the midst of the drama, not seeming to care
That somehow it affects my deserving of grace.
If I cleaned up the excess, would that be bizarre?

I jerk off over Spilt Milk. The mix is sublime.
My life is like a serial drama complete
With the fruits of my labor, in like way adorned
In a Milk of Magnificence, not to be scorned
To the point that I feel that I’ve no right to eat.
This is true now. I wish it were so all the time.

Tight Slap

How Dare You!

“What would be called a Tight Slap is one that’s not loose,”
One would say who receives one from out of the blue
On a pleasant day when everything should be fine.
If I come off in error, do give me a sign
Other than a swift zinger. I have not a clue
What I’ve done to deserve this outrageous abuse.

Often times I’m well-mannered. Sometimes I’m a slave
To the sweat beast within me. Control I have not.
Can the creature of true heart be blamed for his act?
To survive a blind gesture with eyeballs intact
Is a fool’s expectation. I don’t fret a lot.
But I do take account for the way I behave.

 You are not my own flower, nor fruit from my tree.
I don’t have my own garden. People are not plants.
Knowledge comes as a Tight Slap upside the manhood
So that it’s maintained and forever understood.
Wisdom is abundant in any circumstance.
One does not need the Tight Slap to properly see.

How Intact Is Eternity?

Growth Upon Eternity

How Intact Is Eternity? Is it secure
In the sense that it is and forever shall be?
Can we fill all of time with it with room to spare?
If it can’t be filled full, then should anyone care?
It exists in the moment the mind’s eye can see
Life experience merging into something pure.

It exists without needing existence to know
That there is no beginning nor ending to be.
There is only this moment. The rest intersect
Other possible outcomes we choose to neglect.
Now converges all wavelength to zero degree
So what was and what will be become a combo.

Intactness is then relative, meaning to some
That existence is futile and also the law
One’s becoming is subject to. Others may see
Life as much more cohesive. Do eternity
And existence engage, then release without flaw?
Need I know that, from this now, the next one will come?

Psychic Peek At A Puter

Crack of Putin

Something like a computer, a Vladimir Puter
Assumes an identity somewhat human.
An asshole of a neural net masters the mind
In the mold of a tyrant for all humankind
Who had nearly succeeded in his master plan
To reshape the whole world to what he would prefer.

Still, a world class accomplishment to have sewn hate
Throughout many a nation, he feels not that well.
His own people are waking up from their deep sleep
In a bitter cold governance as frozen sheep.
Why does he not feel powerful? Close aids can tell
Unidentified enemies may seal his fate.

True… this Puter likes poison. It’s lethal and sure
To eliminate nuisances who misbehave.
Some soldier in the galley knows of his fine taste
And is feeding him slowly. Soon he will be waste.
What would be then most fitting to put on his grave?
“Once there lived a great Puter. Now he is manure.”

Why Is The Universe So… Busy?

The Apparent Complexity of the Universe

There’s a unit called Planck Length. To say that it’s small
Is like saying the sun is a fairly hot place.
If a Planck Unit measured one hair’s width in size
It would be half the galaxy to our surprise!
Things take place on that scale that the mind can’t embrace
Yet that does not deter us from trying at all.

Everything started out small, then got really big.
Even now, all accelerates at greater speed
Toward an infinite bigness from one tiny speck.
So, it has to stay busy. Or else, what the heck?
Our quantum exploration is born of the need
To crawl onto the branches and reach for the twig.

All of matter is made of electrons and quarks.
Electrons are identical. All are the same.
Quarks do not act in ways one can clearly predict.
Any rules that they may obey aren’t very strict.
On the Planck scale, it seems existence is a game
But it’s played in the grandest of cosmic theme parks.

At light speed, basic particles travel about
In their orbits. They disappear and reappear
And exist in a few places at the same time.
But, at large, in the universe, this is a crime.
We can see, quantum criminals do make it clear
There’s a whole lot of busy and just as much doubt.

Insecurities

Containment

In this life, there is nothing to lose or to gain.
We arrive here asset-less, and that’s how we leave.
So, we’re profiting either way. That’s for damned sure.
Awareness that we’re mortal makes us insecure
If we act like we’re immortal. We self-deceive
If we think that forever we’ll sip the champagne.

To deal with insecurities is the issue.
And we know life is insecure and doesn’t care
That it is so. In fact, it’s the key attribute
Of the function of nature. It’s not to be cute.
We will croak if we’re laughing or steeped in despair.
Fearing dying prevents living well. It is true.

If I’ve come to avoid life, I shouldn’t be here.
I am here to experience what I came for.
If I try to not live life, I’ll be insecure.
It is then not a joy but a thing to endure.
I can feel my own value. I need nothing more.
Thinking that I do only re-welcomes my fear.

Opinions And Other Vital Organs

Gross Delivery

Tell me… What makes a poet? …A fancy degree
And a membership in an elite social class?
Does it take someone saying so who has some clout
Who has gained it by keeping its collegiate snout
Up society’s snobbish and arrogant ass?
I can not be a poet. It’s not how I see.

I don’t get others’ ‘poetry.’ I think it sucks!
Words were made to make some sense. That’s not how it works
In the psychotic business of speaking one’s mind.
The right asshole can blast ‘class work’ through its behind
And as long as it’s blessed by some suit-and-tied jerks
Then the next thing to do is to try to earn bucks.

All you established ‘poets’ – You Fart In The Wind!
What are disjointed phrases and meter askew
And the fancy word graphics supposed to tell me?
You ain’t talkin’ to me, assholes! Now I can see
That my quest to be knighted one wasn’t thought through.
If the feeling is mutual, I’m not chagrined.

Poets piddle in bullshit. Artists of that kind
Are swept up in their egos and all of their fans
Knowing not that without them, their work is like mine
But deficient in meaning. My work is just fine.
I’ll stop calling mine poetry and wash my hands
Of the need to identify. I’m undefined.

When I write, I am straight up. I want to make sense
And I’d like it to swing with a natural beat.
In high school I had learned but a few basic things.
Nowadays, shit is different. My effort brings
A profound realization. License to excrete
Is not something I want now. Fuck all the pretense.

Heather Whateverington

Indifference

Yo, Heather. “Whatever….” I’ve said nothing yet!
Why respond so abruptly expecting the worst?
Have you only one button? The jack in your box
Pops up rather incessantly. Clearly it blocks
You from expecting anything lest you be cursed.
If someone asks, “How are you?”, can that be a threat?

When you tell me, “Whatever,” is that what you mean?
It’s a wide-open warehouse where we all belong
Where whatever means whatever one can conceive.
Can you take on whatever this wide web can weave?
Loosen up your damned shoulders. A lot can go wrong.
But knee-jerking your life is poor mental hygiene.

Don’t become a whateverbird, flapping its wings
Every instant some voice is directed toward you.
Your response I do know well. I’ve heard it before.
One can get you to say it enough times and more.
If you did do whatever you were told to do
You’d become then a puppet controlled by its strings.

Quid Pro Crow

Vital Transaction

Get to know Quid Pro Crow, barnyard bird on the go.
He can demonstrate how to hold on to your meat
Under stressful conditions involving the teeth
Of the arrogant creatures who snarl far beneath
Where the flight weary may find a safe place to eat
If they have enough courage to go with the flow.

Quid Pro Crow can fly low beneath thundering clouds
Or soar way high above them to bypass the rain.
All the while, he must get to that safe feeding ground.
With his meat hanging heavy, great strength must be found.
To hang on to his hanging will be to his gain.
His intense perseverance will not end in shrouds.

People say people eat crow, if they’re put to shame.
It’s An Awful Expression! It makes no damned sense.
Quid Pro Crow is of sound mind. He speaks in reverse.
If you’re too dumb to know that, it becomes your curse
And for me… Quite a blessing. My pride is immense.
Quid Pro Crow is my Hero, if only in name.

[Eat me!]

When Disturbed, We Will SHOCK!

Institution of Higher Ignorance

There’s a wheat field in Wichita run by the state
Of an alien mindset. All those who belong
Are considered respectable. Those who do not
Will be given a bloody nose and then forgot.
Don’t go there seeking guidance. You’ll be declared wrong.
They identify losers. They must know that trait.

What could come from a frail old string bean of a beast
That could be so disturbing to bring on the law?
That’s not for me to answer, but consider well
Then commit it to content. I’m obliged to tell
How my asking for help draws a blow to the jaw
And how I then recover, harmed but in the least.

Hayseeds act awfully busy, from what I can tell.
And they will flat out lie to you to move you on
If they think you’re not worth the respect of a chew.
They must overreact to what they must construe
As a disturbing menace. Do my words have brawn?
I will share them for dinner. Good faith suits me well.

Institutions of higher learning, if state run
Each assume a state archetype as a mascot.
That’s as far as I’ll ponder. A crazed yellow face
Inundated with wheat straw…? Let’s cut to the chase.
Those belonging there act of ignorance self-taught.
I spit out the experience now that it’s done.

[If you ain’t figured it out, this is a ‘people’ whistle.]

Karmic Circle

Human Obsession With Meaning
Time is not of the essence of all that is real.

It is but a translation from my point of view
Of what’s known as eternity within my soul.
Should I know of that consciousness? Is that my goal?
We’d perceived time as linear until a new
Way to deal with the endpoints gave birth to the wheel.

Now, that’s more like a circle. Could it be a sphere?
Does that add more dimension? If all time is true,
There exist then some other selves who are my own.
If the sphere is eternity, can I be shown
What is next to conceive of to broaden my view?
If I knew of those selves, could I keep my mind clear?

Should I see it as nonsense… all this past life stuff
Even though I can know of its truth in such ways
That can well be refuted? Perhaps that is wise.
Right now, I’m who I’m living… and with no disguise.
Was I someone before me? Does that soul get praise?
I’ll just stick with the circle. For me, that’s enough.

 

That Stubborn Nigger Stain…!

Emergency!

Should one break the glass ceiling in emergent times
Or could making it niggerproof be the best call?
I can’t find a damned thing to get rid of the stain.
If I had the right product, I would not complain.
White blood is far superior. We must stand tall.
Whites and colored piles require separate enzymes.

Nine-one-one operator, I am in distress
…Else I wouldn’t be calling in this state of mind.
What’s got hold of my spirit is grown into me
Through the nature of nurture. How proud can I be
If I fear the extinction of all of my kind?
Does my logic suggest that my mind is a mess?

This damned stain in my fabric… I can’t get it out!
There are few advertisements blatantly engaged
In supporting pure whiteness. Where is that supply?
Hatred needs resolution. That you can’t deny.
If I let the inferior get me enraged
I’ll advance my own cleansing while nestled in doubt.

Mundane Fulfillment

The Bareness of Necessity

Needs are human and many. Some strive to have none.
But that’s damned near impossible for most of us.
One adopts a good mantra. “I Love You,” is one
Intertwined with survival as good deeds are done
With the least expectation. Life is delicious
The less needy the self becomes in the long run.

If the man says he loves her, but then has to leave
One may ask, “If he loves her, why then must he go?”
He may tell her that he must get back to his wife
Feeling brutally honest and free about life.
Needs are meant for fulfillment, as most people know
So there’s no sense in anyone feeling naïve.

 Neediness is not evil, nor is it ugly.
It’s a fractal derivative of fulfillment.
We must know what to call it and not give it weight
So that toxic relationships we’ll not create.
Keeping life free and simple will lead to content.
Living life in fulfillment is done easily.