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Why The Devil May Care

Dirty Deal

I know not of the devil. If such knows of me,
Then I’m not me. Someone else possesses that soul.
We would swear that the devil’s delight in despair
Can’t effect a good outcome. We then should beware
Of the red-handed handshake lest we lose control
Of our spirit, and therefore our life’s destiny.

Are some friends with the devil? Odd creatures are they
Who can bypass the probable all in good fun.
God bless those who, in conscience, can cast to the wind
Any notion suggesting that they may have sinned.
We’d wish only and quickly that justice be done
So that those who aren’t friendly can go on their way.

Why The Devil Should Care is the question to ask
Oneself if there’s a hint of a doubt in one’s deeds.
Devils don’t deal in caring. They speak in bold lies.
That they are our top leaders is no big surprise.
What the devil cares mostly about are his needs
And to get them fulfilled is one hell of a task.

Troubled Towers And Walls

Nursery Grime

Were you born ‘Trumpelstiltskin’ you wouldn’t have been
So well-known by the name – more so by your ill deeds.
You would not have been overheard by the Queen’s men.
Her poor father, the miller, would yet sin again.
To turn straw into gold, one begins with gold seeds.
Will your own miller’s daughter be sent to the pen?

Will you scramble and fry well before the great fall
As your towers magnificent melt like the ice
In the warming earth climate your fool mind denies?
I do find entertainment in your self-demise.
If you do make it through this, perhaps you’ll think twice
About playing a big game when you are so small.

Build That Wall and sit on it! Your fall is in sight.
It’s a long time in coming. The death that I felt
On the night I was gangraped comes full circle now.
Hindsight is but a luxury all can allow.
How do you feel about this trump card you’ve been dealt?
May your fairytale end as our future grows bright.

Malefic Colonoscope

Colon Specific

A head made for examining places obscene
Is the best of a woman. This world view will change.
Will the goddess of old step aside for the new?
Will she be brushed asunder, her path laid askew
By upcoming young Goddesses? Can it be strange
That procedures be undone due to ill routine?

There are those who, nostalgic for good times gone past,
Need a detailed report on the colonic health
Of the king who she works for. The news sparks their hopes
That all women can be trained to be endoscopes.
It is made more appealing when tied to some wealth
And the praises of men through their lifetimes will last.

I won’t look at that colon. Suffice it to feel
On some subsonic level what goes on up there.
My head must be above all that causes distress.
All the feminine power that we now suppress
Is approaching expression. Is this but a prayer?
Naturally prophetic, it shall become real.

The Malignant Malingering

Impaired Executive Function

It’s a long time in coming. A change in game plan
Is now unfolding vividly. No coverup
Can be made to be foolproof. The world clearly sees
Conflagration of trouble due to his disease.
One who deals in delusion will drink from this cup.
Is the doctor in trouble or is the con man?

A quick trip to the hospital on a work night
May suggest some activity might have occurred
Involving hypertension or panic attacks
And those close in his circle must all watch their backs.
We must tell the world nothing. This way is preferred.
This is not a good story. We must spin it right.

Soon the president will be given the big choice.
He will quit due to illness as all play along.
Never mind that he’s not ill – just screwed in the head.
If he keeps the shit up, pretty soon he’ll be dead.
One who’s sick and in office confounds what is wrong.
There may soon come a reason that all may rejoice.

A Night Of Awakening

Hope

The vampires and the zombies compete on the stage
As their werewolves howl constantly into this night.
It becomes fairly fecal. The sponsored live stream
Drives the country to consciousness, as in a dream.
Feeble sounds mocking justice are silenced by light.
All that’s missing from this scene is fervent outrage.

Nestled in the fluidity, we may see stars…
Bright but blurred in our vision, they do but their best
As they have always done. It’s ingrained in their souls.
Noble service and duty are their only goals.
With the issues at hand finally put to rest
We may return to daylight by healing our scars.

The night sky is a spectacle for human eyes.
So attracted to contrast, they follow the flow.
Seeing aesthetic balance is best for all sides
Of the One coin united. The one who divides
Will go down in world history as a great foe.
We will soon be awakened to friendlier skies.

Volcanic Defecation Forecast

Extreme Privacy

A big blast from the small room where bathing takes place
Is the source of embarrassment for the house guests.
They know no one is bathing. The sound that they hear
Is the elimination of what causes fear.
The host must take accounting for what he digests.
A loud dump is the outcome before the disgrace.

In the Oval Office there is no air-tight room
With a stainless-steel toilet to muffle the sound
Of the violent expulsion of all the ill deeds
Because many an investigation proceeds.
The whole world braces for the bowel movement profound.
It’s a gross revelation of impending doom.

The blast comes in the form of a soundbite of news
Telling of something horrid. It gets even worse.
It will grow to a shit stream of disgusting facts.
We have not heard the worst of this wicked man’s acts.
The alarm is our knowing that soon the foul curse
Will be lifted from us. This man will pay his dues.

Bowels can be rather noisy, occasionally.
It’s a sign that we haven’t been treating them right.
If we stuff them with evil for decades on end
They will shout with a loud voice. They do not pretend
That they haven’t been messed with. Our future is bright.
The White House is no outhouse. They will come to see.

Day Of Tough Love

Antidote

It’s The Day Of The Dove… or perhaps of Tough Love
That resembles the justice that must become due.
There’s an alien creature that feeds on our hate.
We’ve become deeply sided. We cannot see straight.
Civil War is its true wish, and its point of view
Is the sole source of nourishment it can speak of.

Not on earth did it come from. It just floated in.
A hot gas of no substance, it draws energy
From the drama of chaos which once were the lives
Of its innermost circles. He alone survives
Until those who’d been enemies finally see
How the creature is harming them, to its chagrin.

All our sides deal with one foe. The nation is not
One that can be divided and sapped of its worth.
We can laugh at the enemy and take delight
In the fact that the laughing will drive it from sight.
Such a creature should never take over the earth.
Life is like science fiction. They share the same plot.

Did Someone Use The ‘L’ Word?

Hang 'Em High!

Did Someone Use The ‘L’ Word? Who sounds the alarm
That I must pay attention to? Is it for me
Or someone who is like me? Who does it come from?
You don’t look like my brother who has overcome
Lethal racial injustice, and I cannot see
That your well-deserved drama is causing you harm.

Wash your mouth out with history, ignorant fool!
Having no sense of dignity, joke genius plays
Any card that seems feasible in delusion.
It may seem like a hanging to you, brilliant one,
Since you’re caught up in all kinds of trouble these days.
But your red neck will never know something so cruel.

You know nothing of lynching. Your analogy,
Like the others you come up with, are an insult
Belching forth from entitlement. You will soon be
With the criminals like you who see as you see.
Some who speak about lynching are those of a cult
Most accustomed to spewing incongruency.

The Proper Disposal Of Black Hole Waste

Magnetic Personality

When disposing of black holes, protection is wise
In the way of great distance and lawful technique
To avoid the horizon. Events taking place
Do resemble spaghettification in space.
As the king’s men begin stretching, so they will freak.
Having gotten too close, they have sealed their demise.

Black holes start out as big stars, but then they grow old
Such that their massive egos begin to cave in
Drawing all who are near into utter darkness.
So distorted are their minds, no need to confess
And come free would occur to them. Is this their sin?
Is it that they’ve become the horizon threshold?

Stars that die can be menacing and a real threat
To all matter around them and within their fields
Of executive influence through slight of mind
And a stale, foolish tactic pulled from the behind.
We can make time and distance most effective shields
Along with a good lesson this world won’t forget.

Whistles Blowing

Danger There!

Many people blow whistles rather than ignore
What they see as their duty to country and God.
Whistles are used because they can make a loud sound.
If lifeguards did not use them, many would be drowned
Or become living shark feed, or victims of fraud.
Any person can use one. It’s not such a chore.

One’s attention is called, when a whistle is blown,
To detail of the nature of danger perceived.
It is up to those listening to give support
And protection to those brave enough to report
Ways in which We The People are wrongly deceived.
Such are people of honor and solid backbone.

Many whistles are blowing not unto deaf ears.
As the drama unfolds upon our earthly stage,
Punctuated with danger on levels complex,
One can see that we live as the future expects.
What we have is a chance to rewrite the next page.
What prevents us from doing so remains our fears.

Election Mode

The Promisory Nature of Politics

In the space of four years’ time, a lot can get done
But what gets done depends quite a bit on which mode
Leadership is locked into. One can’t be in both
Working Mode and Election Mode. One takes the oath
To work but for this country. Honor is bestowed
On the leader who knows we are second to none.

The election campaign is an aberrant glitch
In the internal workings of democracy.
Never ending, news cyclic, and wasteful, campaigns
Are a circus for many, but few will reap gains
As the balance of work done we’re not meant to see.
Who become the needy, We The People enrich.

In Election Mode, most leaders look far ahead
As if they have a strategy and enough charm
To stay hired for another term. Others are blind
To the nature of leadership of any kind.
They are put into place to dispense utter harm
As their foolish decisions beget death and dread.

A Supreme DUI Judge

Horror

It’s not that I’ve no content. I’ve got that and more.
Politics interrupts, then I push things aside
That are worthwhile discussing rather than a guy
Who could be a fine poster boy for DUI.
He’s quite fond of the froth. He admits that with pride.
Does he share this with colleagues passed out on the floor?

I like beer. I’ll admit it. But I’m not a judge.
So I guess if you’re privileged, it scores a plus.
I throw many a tantrum. I don’t get my way.
I do hope that this madman is not here to stay.
He got in underhandedly. What’s to discuss
When a judge acts the fool and the right do not budge?

Can you look at this punk’s face and find justice there?
The question is not legal. Faces are allowed
To display bouts of lunacy. Justice, therefore,
Is a drunken perverseness. What may be in store
For the beer boasting psycho behind the black shroud
Is a seat on a prison bench. Would that be fair?

…Maybe not. Perhaps DUI justice is more
Apropos to the temperament and core belief
That some people get what they deserve by virtue
Of the fate that has branded them for life to screw.
Until he takes that robe off, to me, he’s a thief.
Justice that isn’t justice is hard to ignore.

The Emperor Has No Tower

Vacated Democracy

Many flags for one’s tower…? Which power has won
By the will of the ill-minded, drunk in their ways?
Are we slaves to white Arabs, Russian oligarchs
Or some other rogue players who swim with the sharks?
As the tower collapses, the world sings in praise.
Soon the sand heap that cripples the flag will be gone.

One can glance at the grossness of that naked hell.
Greasy food, nasty habits and foolish lifestyle
Filter through the flesh fabric and onto the flag
Reconfigured to serve as fine ditty rag…
But won’t take a fake tower. Bereft is his smile
Of a sense of conviction, but with lies to tell.

Is it too damned divisive to do what is right?
We are at civil war now. What time would work well?
…When the emperor completes his sinister plan?
Why let our lives be linked to the likes of Satan?
 These are stupid assed questions. I’m wise to dispel
What may come of that tower. The future seems bright.

Many things have a stupid ass, so it would seem.
Such a worthwhile expression suffices the need
To make sense of a real world become fantasy.
Towers honor the phallus most absolutely.
They won’t stand hard forever nor can they impede
The high tide of refocusing back on the Dream.

Disgrace

Realization of Self Undoing

It’s A Disgrace!
I didn’t know what I was headed for.
Now my ass is headed out the door.
Is this my fate?

It’s A Disgrace!
This world will not bow down and worship me.

I can’t face up to this reality.
I’m so irate.

It’s too late. I’ve gone too far. I’ve lost my base…

It’s A Disgrace!
I climbed a mountain someone made too high.

That someone helped me, I will flat out deny…
Just look at my face.

…So commonplace.
This job of president is not my style.
It doesn’t fit with my birthright to defile
But now it’s too late.

Life was great. It’s now bizarre. I’ve lost my place…

It’s A Disgrace!

…Too many losers, and not enough that I can bribe.
…Too many big deals, but not enough time.
…Too many secrets, and some that I can’t hide from you.
…Too many troubles. That’s why that I imbibe.

It’s too late. I’ve gone too far. I’ve lost my base…

Egg on my face….

That’s what will happen in a little while.
Congress may impeach or put me on trial…
Why can’t I think straight?

It’s A Disgrace!
I can’t predict the weather well behind bars.
Will the country ever heal from its czars?
Sharpies just don’t erase…

It’s too late. I’ve Gone too far. I’ve lost my base…

It’s A Disgrace!

 

 

Something BIG Is About To Happen

Profound Revelation

Information extracted from processed manure
To be polished and passed off as meaningful news
Is a thing become commonplace. Not much is real
But the buildup in tension that most real folk feel.
There’s just too much that’s missing from everyone’s views.
Why not check with the woo-woo folk just to be sure?

Some become all the wiser as they become source
Of alternative knowing. Truth is in demand
That cannot be forthcoming from they who must lie
To protect their network of deceit ‘till they die.
One need not be a psychic to well understand
That descent into darkness is par for the course.

Mother Earth has a hero… one Mother of one!
In fact, she has a dozen or so up her sleeve…
Or perhaps in her crystal ball. As we grow tense,
Call to action becomes urgent. And this makes sense.
Her next move is predicted by how we perceive
And respond to our worse hand. We may come undone.

For The Next Scheduled Horror…

Hoplessness

The country is a Moon Child. Emotions run deep.
And when brought to the surface, our temper can flare.
We’re suspicious and moody… often insecure
Yet, tenacious and loyal with heart that is pure.
We can be sympathetic. We are known to care.
We place value on family. We often weep.

Many fit this description, and we are all prone
To be somewhat too generous. Our will to trust
In a functioning government makes us all fools.
We tend not to make trouble and play by the rules.
We’ve obeyed them forever. The next horror must
Generate some reaction. Too much we condone.

Is it that we are powerless due to disease
Of a cancerous nature? The malignant growth
Is to vastly unknowable. All sources lie.
Is it wise to take cover or give love a try?
We have done each and neither, so if we tried both
Would we take too much comfort in our expertise?

Can we stop the next butcher? They grow like the weeds
And are just as aggressive. They get their support
From we who can do nothing but take to the streets
As perhaps we are meant to. Inaction defeats
No condition of any kind. We are, in short,
At the mercy of ourselves entrapped in our deeds.

The Base

Base Place

When I first learned the word ‘base,’ I though that it meant
As Webster had defined it. I was but a child.
So, I could not have known that most words do evolve
And grow new layers of meaning for some folks to solve.
How does such a benign word become so reviled
By the bulk of the nation? Why such strong dissent?

Just what is this new meaning revived from the old
Black and white ways of going about the business
Of preparing the basement for some future war?
Does this new base support something most would abhor?
Helter-skelter a bomb shelter folds under stress
While upholding a structure who’s foreign controlled.

One may get to the base if one falls through the hole
In the floor of the living room. Yet, once down there
One can see all the clutter and filth and take heed
That we come to our senses and realize the need
To replace most our leaders with those who will care
For the base of the whole nation… heart, mind and soul.

Darkie Season

Clear and Present Emergency

Background checks do save lives. Moscow Bitch must agree.
That’s why he won’t allow them. The breeders will breed.
And we can’t let that happen. Soon this nation will
Be infested with colored folk. White folk must kill
To prevent the invasion. The way to succeed
Is by bribing the senate, and most thoroughly.

Armies need army weapons. They do the most harm
In a series of instants, so let them be sold.
If I were president, I would give them away.
My elite subcommanders would do what I say.
Is it true that a massacre can be controlled
By the use of one’s rhetoric and true alarm?

I must look at my hatred. Our teacher-in-chief,
Knowing not that he’s doing so, offers the hope
That I don’t focus on him. He is but the sore
Of a wound suffered long ago. Never before
Have I re-felt such venom because of this dope.
This remains a hard lesson. Am I due relief?

No such thing will I know of unless there’s a change
In my way of perceiving all that must take place
As a function of being in this human form.
I perceive human hatred a recurrent storm.
Those who cannot believe that we’re all of one race
Are a lesson in my life, although that sounds strange.

Forgiveness

Prayer In Desperation

Can you forgive someone with his foot up your ass?
He must take the damned thing out first. Then you’ll get there.
Or are you quite the mystic who seems not to be
Part of this world and all that most others can see?
I will pray for my enemy that he beware
That the hell dreamt and hoped for shall not come to pass.

Can the dull, aching nausea evolve into grace
When presented the miracle of guiding light
From omnipotent beingness? Can I believe
That the enemy’s shoe is something to receive
As a most gracious lesson? That doesn’t feel right.
Perhaps God can find someone to then take my place.

“On Your Knees,” demands Putin, consumed in much hate
And profusely delighted his plan is in play.
“Pray that fate may release you from my evil grip.
You will get used to life under my rulership.”

Is this sounding too farfetched? I’ll fetch any way
That can give the soul solace as I ruminate.

Fuck A Ballot Box!

Playing It Straight

You, the hell, say that waiting… then voting again
Is the proper way forward to rid the white house
Of the white beast within it? I say with no grin,
I done tried that before, boss. My patience is thin!
Did the shit work the last time? Vomit you espouse
As I smell that come from you, I must count to ten.

We are Butt Fucked and Hog Tied. Our system is Screwed!
You sound as if you’re Goldilocks or bitch Bo Peep.
“Just say no” to the ogre, then he’ll go away?
You’re a nightmarish fairytale for present day.
What’s become of my country? My hatred is deep
Yet my fear can surpass that and keep it subdued.

I’m afraid of what’s happening. Shit Is Dead Wrong!
It don’t take no collegiate to use common sense.
There’s no damned motherfucking thing that I can do
Than keep civil while bent over nailed by the screw.
Don’t tell me not to feel this. I take great offense
To perfuming the stench and singing a nice song.

Swamp Replacement Campaign

Swamp Maintenance via Russia

“Drain The Swamp,” was the slogan, then “Put Up That Wall!”
Foreign enemies know well how our nation works.

First, they watch us for decades. The patterns they see
Then can be used against us. We are completely
At the mercy of dark forces whose evil lurks
Like a thick, stinking, heavy cloud over us all.

How the Hell does this happen? The forefathers planned
Well for this kind of crisis. It’s built into law!
Some are helping the enemy to get around
Many rules of our nation. These people are bound
To some other commitment. Therein lies the flaw
That entraps the electable weakened of stand.

We all know this happening before our eyes.
This slow-motionless train wreck is ours but to watch
Somewhat helplessly while waiting for it to pass.
I am not a black Russian. Putin, Kiss My Ass!
As our leaders get off theirs, I hope they won’t botch
Up this process. That could well lead to our demise.

Rich White Trash

Convergence of Economic Realities

There’s a need to sound racist. It gets to some truth.
Human rubbish are one race. We make oneness smell
Like a trip to the outhouse that we keep inside
Where the heart is a black hole releasing no pride.
We’ve made this world our dumpster. Within it we dwell,
Self-Importantly arrogant and quite uncouth.

On the flip side of privilege, there are the poor.
That’s the primary reason we don’t get along.
Most will never know wealth nor the pleasures thereof.
Somewhat sick as a race, then, it’s hard to show love.
So, we single out certain groups and make them wrong.
There’s a point at which reason we vow to ignore.

Yet is this too simplistic? To speak about hate
In a tame enough manner and still get things clear
Is a task not worth trying. The trash in my mind
That blows in from the outside is not of my kind.
All my hatred can do is rekindle my fear
That we’re all not the same trash. I’m here to create.

Crucify Her!

Tribal Emnity

“Crucify Her!” They cried, and did so with Great pride
And their own word for greatness and times as they were.
“Go back to where you came from,” some group said to Christ.
Since before we were ‘upright’ we’d been sacrificed
By profound racial venom and what we ‘prefer’
To what is our reality. Hate Does Divide.

No war is ever civil, and all war goes on,
Never ceasing completely. Forever we are
Reconfiguring old hatreds to make them new.
History is a clockwork. We are the cuckoo.
The teen-aged-acting harem and their superstar
Is the darkest point, I hope, before a new dawn.

…You pathetic white women! …You whores of us all!
Why condemn who your white man treats as he does you?

Grow grotesque in your fondness for ‘good old boy’ days.
Let your husbands bull fuck you, then sing in their praise.
You are not my America. You are those who,
By the numbers, are likely to see your downfall.

Sarah Bee

Blind Conviction

It’s a story – one of glory – of the bold Miss Sarah Bee
Who became the meanest bulldog that the press would ever see.

Once a simple southern lady, she became a superstar,
But the light she was reflecting left her with a psychic scar.

Those believing her deceiving are as blind as they can be
To the dog that barked behind her. They respect their Sarah Bee.

Once a darling and a starling to the big dog of the pack,
She has lost their confidence. Now, she has left not looking back.

…Quite assumin’ of a woman that her bonnet for a bee
Could protect her form the specter that most others cannot see.

There’s no reason not to go for governor of Arkansas.
Working well in such a crime scene, she knows much about the law.

Who defined your bleak one-niner? Do you have an enemy
Such that meeting with The People is something you cannot see?

Well, my darlin’, like a marlin who’s escaped back to the sea,
You are free form close encounters involving misogyny.

Highfalutin, verbal shootin’, tyrant rootin’ Sarah Bee
…Hope you’re lost and gone forever. We The People do agree.

A Barbie Doll Chewed By An Ugly Dog

Exaustion and Desperation

Barbie Doll was invented by one who could see
That young girls can dream mightily and can go far.
They can take on most anything done in the past.
The future can be hopeful. Impressions can last
Through a life of achievement. It is not bizarre
That a doll becomes something girls don’t want to be.

Some dolls end up in landfills, unfortunately,
Or else tossed near a dumpster, no longer of use
To the one who perceives it as just a plaything.
The dog then will adopt it. No hope will that bring
To plastic and its meaning. It’s now an excuse
To keep womanhood portrayed as something ugly.

We have taken our Barbie and made her a bitch.
Her face radiates horror at what we’ve become.
Don’t tell me it’s your job, bitch! You know wrong from right.
God should denounce your womanhood, you sorry sight!
You broadcast to the world that your heart has grown numb
To the incessant chewing while trapped in the ditch.

They Do Think We’re All Stupid!

Conflagration of Troubled Leadership

The disease of entitlement has become vogue.
White men stuffed in silk jackets must each wear a noose.
Why this is so is custom and much too absurd,
So, one wouldn’t be wise taking them at their word.
Slavery is professional as is abuse.
There’s a reason our government has become rogue.

We elected Obama. That was the last straw.
Not just once, but twice, we went and did the wrong thing.
Now, one hell of a backlash from nigger ascent
Reminds all that the fruits of our nation were meant
For the few white and wealthy. What freedom will ring
Is America ‘great’ again made into law.

They said, “Screw it! The People don’t know what they want.
They make foolish decisions. It’s now up to us
To return us to sanity and the white way.
We declare infiltration has seen its last day.”
One dose of the right nigger scares whites treasonous.

So, who’s up for the running? Who’s our confidant?

When The Cock Takes The Crosswalk

Apparent Normalcy on the Farm

Need I hear the cock stutter to know I’ve betrayed,
For the third and last instance, some semblance of hope
That a new day is coming? E’er when the cock crows,
All the sycophant chickens make sure that he knows
He can count on their loyalty. How do they cope?
Either they are well paid or just too damned afraid.

And maybe it’s for both reasons. Who know for sure?
It becomes a big mystery not to be solved
By our imperfect system – not anytime soon.
Would our congress act if we all barked at the moon?
It’s a shame that our leaders are not more evolved.
If I think of it that way, what must I endure?

When The Cock Takes The Crosswalk, as soon he must do,
He will then be crossing at the intersection
Of justice and confinement, perhaps behind bars.
We will pay for his upkeep and tend to our scars.
As the traffic increases, the cock comes undone.
He Shall Not Cross The Street Twice though he will want to.

Spin Yada

To Illustrate the Innanity of Process

We’re a while past the main event, yet we still play
At a game that has no end in sight, so it seems.
He who beats with Spin Yada has not a big stick.
Sophistry becomes useless performed as a trick
To protect well the guilty one. His ‘honor’ deems
That the thug is unbudgeable and here to stay.

And within the Spin Yada the truth is contained.
The pet hog with the magic wand flails it about.
While pretending to hit it, he spins it instead.
In the process, the people are sorely mislead.
Why the hog deserves ‘honor’ and is given clout
Is a thing that the people do not need explained.

The Spin Yada had broken a long time ago.
We behold an illusion performed on a stage
With a bunch of bad actors who’ve not learned their lines.
We, the audience, notice through clear, telltale signs.
It’s a sorry performance. It cannot assuage
We The People who have seen a much better show.

The truth had been our standard. It will again soon
Be what we’ve been accustomed to in leadership.
We’ve a predator nation up our sick behind
And our dick headed system should be redesigned.
The Marine is our standard. He has a firm grip
On the truth of our nation about to be strewn.

Right Leadership

TheMagicRealist.com

What can be called Right Leadership? What does it mean?
To the leader and leadee, are they both the same?
To some, it comes quite easily… Others, with pain.
One who is resolute and wise is to our gain.
Otherwise, in the world’s eyes, we wallow in shame.
We are hardly a model right now. We’re obscene.

We’ve been stuck in a deep pit for more than too long.
 To escape, what is needed is a special gear.
Enough force of momentum and focus of heart
In a leader can lead us out. All must take part
In maintaining the framework most of us hold dear.
Do we need the best leader to all get along?

Could we use some more pressure? Sufficient it’s not
For the depth we have fallen. It is a tough climb
To get back to the freedoms of democracy.
If we were ever there once, that’s were we should be.
Practical difficulties contingent to time
Hold us in a predicament within a plot.

The Storm

Evoke awareness of the current political climate

When at last will this storm pass? It’s acid-like rain
Eats away at my mood swing. A simple flatline
Has been cast into turbulence. To be seasick
Amid faint, rumbling thunder and words that are thick
Clouds that offer confusion is of whose design?
That, of course, is my choosing. I cannot complain.

Back when I was a sailor, they gave people pills
To more easily cope with the random motion
Of the steadfast and mighty home known as our ship.
Would it make a difference were I to equip
My soul with some salvation by having some fun
As the wayward commanders configure their wills?

Every ship needs a captain as well as a crew
That is shipshape and sober and plays by the rules.
Being that we don’t have one, can we stay afloat
And maintain our direction in waters remote?
Those who now are in power will go down as fools
And the storm that exists now will simply blow through.

 

Global Guide

TheMagicRealist.com

Who believes in one nation? Believe in them all!
In this world of sensation, our experience
We judge pleasant or unpleasant. So, sensation
Is not always sensational, nor is it fun.
Stimuli from outside us, though sometimes intense,
Do not really control us. That part is our call.

We respond to sensations. We’re happy or sad
Or somewhere in-between the two. We are in tune
To the music we’re used to. Some people may feel
That what we care to listen to isn’t quite real.
We need not end up fighting nor dare to impugn
The sensations of others. That would be our bad.

We are made up of spirit – a set of ideals.
More than physical substance, we are consciousness.
If we can but explore that aspect, we can be
An enlightened and much saner a country –
One in which all are worthy of earthly success.
Any nation is only as well as it feels.

Most important to culture is finding the way
In the rhythm of living. We speak much of God
And the nature of heaven. How we feel within
Is the place where all thought and action should begin.
We need not then be guided by such a façade
As a toolbox of morals put up for display.

Other countries do consciousness better than we.
This is not such a put down. We’re good at some things.
Boundaries are inevitable in this life.
We struggle to support them, thus generate strife.
When we are of a right heart, enlightenment rings.
We need not seek for guidance on how we should be.

There’s A Fly In The Soup!

TheMagicRealist.com

There’s a fly in the soup! Is there much I can do?
I don’t feel quite like eating now. Who the hell would?
Yet, you say with a poker face, “Just scoop it out,
Then the soup will be edible.”
I have great doubt.

Scooping out every bit indeed does the most good…
Then, sandblasting the soup bowl ‘til it becomes new.

But, not even a clean bowl am I ready for.
That my fast waning appetite for common sense
And some truth and civility can’t be ignored
Is the number one reason options are explored
For alternative nourishment. Screw the suspense!
When I’m served what’s not wanted, I don’t ask for more.

The fly and all its maggots and compromised germs
Make what was once a good meal something become foul.
But what will die of hunger is only my fear.
I can feed myself elsewhere. Thank God that that’s near.
In that place, I’ll not hold my nose and wear a scowl.
I, the ultimate chef, shall prepare on my terms.

Great Individual – Great Society

TheMagicRealist.com

Geographically, nations protected from war
By a body of water or rough mountain range,
Did experience times of peace more than did most.
Wartime, now superficial, is our glaring host.
To ignore that we’ve been screwed is something most strange.
Battles fought now are done so behind the closed door.

But, nestled within warfare are pockets of peace
Wherein we allow ourselves to grow and evolve,
Through enlightened electorate, society
Most abundant in resources. Yet, are we free
If we don’t know which problem we need to resolve
Above all others such that much warring will cease?

A Great Society is built from inside out.
From our Best Individual, we form the best
That a nation can call itself. If I can be
But the best superhero to self and country,
Then my loyalty is freely put to the test.
Of the greatness of this nation I have no doubt.

The Affections Of Phineas Phuthworthy

TheMagicRealist.com

Phineas is a fun guy. He means no one harm.
Yet, sometimes he gets frisky like a puppy dog.
Friends and family love him. He’s not a pervert.
Not a thing about him should put one on alert.
Would one fear being kissed by a funny bullfrog?
We can know that our Phineas knows how to charm.

Why then would women scorn him? I know no all do.
Yet should he run for office, he wouldn’t get far.
Most women would adore him and give him their vote.
Others would castigate him, then that’s all she wrote.
Do men’s innocent actions define who they are?
Does a worse man than Phineas satisfy you?

Phineas is an old man. Does this make him wrong?
Promulgation of character warfare is not
Done from any one platform. It comes from within
Wherein we implement our original sin
By infecting the narrative with our own plot.
But a leader like Phineas at least is strong.

You Can’t PROVE I’m A Scarecrow

TheMagicRealist.com

I know nothing of farming, but I’m the best one
To behave as your farmer by bullshit alone.
Is it that what elected me is a machine
Most corrupted and broken and makes me obscene
That erodes any hope you have down to the bone?
How I commandeered this field will be told to none.

Those who say I’m a scarecrow have gathered no proof
That betrays that I am one. This clears me of shame
On the outside, but inside, there’s only hot air.
That hot air can be blameless is not only fair,
It’s the best way I know of to win at life’s game.
Mentally insufficient, I can seem aloof.

The report says they tried hard, but they couldn’t find
Enough factual evidence linking me to
All who took part in stuffing me to make me look
Like something of a candidate. But, I’m a crook.
You Can’t PROVE I’m A Scarecrow, so all you can do
Is to ignore the hay you see. Pretend you’re blind.

Smoke Enema

TheMagicRealist.com

We still have breaking news. Like the passing of gas,
It gets people’s attention. It then turns them off.
A few years chasing smoke now. So, where’s the report?
Disappointed and let down, no call to cavort
Motivates me. Indeed, any news I will scoff.
Though their motives are noble, what truth can amass?

Was I expecting clarity? Blow me some more.
It does seem now that our nation is owned by czars.
I’m caught up in conspiracy due to the smoke.
Those who can see right through it know that it’s a joke
To a certain point, then seeing may produce scars
In the psyche. Is that something I can ignore?

Yes, I Can! Not a locked-legged man at the draw,
I am not that apparent an arch enemy
Amid truth reconfigured then pumped up the ass.
I stand with knees adjusted, as ‘this too shall pass’.
It will take time for smoke to clear. Then shall we see?
We’re a nation of antics. To Hell With The Law!

The Dirt On Our Clinton

TheMagicRealist.com

A heartbroken scapedonkey with dirt on her back
Stands alone and recalcitrant to public show
All because of the video game that we play.
Finding dirt on our leaders can brighten our day.
As the searching is aided, opponents will go
To extreme lengths to engage in lethal attacks.

The assaults, often vicious, leave nothing revealed
But much talk and conjecture yet nothing of truth.
All the while life keeps happening. There’s no mistake
That the drama befuddles us, and for the sake
Of induced sanctimony, we show to our youth
In the worst way that our nation needs to be healed.

Our fine system of government is a machine
Made of people by people. It has not a mind
That is single and unified. Is this the case?
I do not know the answer nor can I embrace
The collateral damage. I won’t become blind
To the dirt that becomes us. When will we come clean?

A Person Of Morals

TheMagicRealist.com

Everyone wants the best one to be at the top
Of the chain of ideals to which all good aspire.
We may think we are good, though we lose perspective
With the life that surrounds us who are effective
As a minefield morality steeped in crossfire.
We can’t all be as preachers. Somewhere it must stop.

That which invents morality is based in fear –
Something that the fine intellect could put at ease.
We would become wild animals without our laws
Which, derived from our morals and mad flapping jaws,
Form the basis for people to do as they please
Just as long as their acts are both benign and clear.

We are much like the animals. In that we may
Put them in exaltation without meaning to.
In the ways we are different, we should take note
That they don’t live by morals. That way they devote
Every bit of awareness on just what to do
To steer clear of illusion and have a good day.

Wake Me When The Witch Is Dead

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s a good life in Kansas. I’d rather stay here
Than be knocked quite unconscious and grabbed by the house
To be dropped on a brick road of red, white and blue.
I engage with the storyline and as I do
Its perverse, wicked witchery I will espouse.
The suspense, a surreal thing, is rooted in fear.

I would be called a munchkin if I left my state
Of alignment with selfhood and lightness of heart.
In the dreamworld we see technicolor as real.
There’s a hint of nostalgia in how people feel
About wizards who strive not to drive folks apart.
Does this tale have a climax? We’ll just have to wait.

But while waiting, do I care to watch the grass grow
Through the cracks in the pavement? That wouldn’t seem wise.
I know that the big city is glittered in green
And the folks who play games there can play rather mean.
To be bored with the world dream comes as no surprise.
Wake me when it’s all over. I may want to know.

Operating System Corrupted

TheMagicRealist.com

Get in touch with the enemy. Model their acts
And make sure that their vanities can be controlled.
As their ways are well studied one can gain access
To their innermost workings. Their minds are a mess!
They will sell you their secrets for trinkets, we’re told.
Easily they are driven by alternate facts.

They believe in their system. We must do the same.
Though we raise much suspicion, no one will respond
In enough time to stop us dead cold in our tracks.
As we screw them, their journalists air our attacks.
Those who matter are impotent and tend to bond
With whoever is dominant. They have no shame.

Easily they’re corruptible, gaping in awe.
In slow motion, explosiveness looks like a dream.
As it happens in real time, is real damage done?
They will speak all about the man holding the gun
As he shoots at them. Not even thinking to scream,
They’re a curious system confounded in flaw.

Whiteface

TheMagicRealist.com

Does America have a big whiteface again?
Or can we ever have one that all can call ours?
Do we seem like a friend to bewildered allies?
Has the fate of our statehood become someone’s prize?
Is it likely that we are now governed by czars?
Do we act out in whiteface like proud gentlemen?

What’s the state of creation in our nation now?
Is it one of relationship or battle cries?
We’re at war with our damned selves! No thing leads us on
Like rekindled resentment from which hope is drawn.
We’re a state in a state of most lethal white lies.
We could redeem ourselves if we only knew how.

We depend on our dough-people maybe so much
That we think they aren’t human. Therefore, the machine
Of self-government needs a full check of its gears.
But it is somewhat human. It does shed its tears.
Absolute in snow whiteness, much chaos is seen
And the heat of our drama is cold to the touch.

Put Your Bitch On The Street!

TheMagicRealist.com

Messed with government workers, here’s some good advice.
I can tell that you’re just a tad miffed, but don’t sweat.
So you’ve tried a few yard sales, and that didn’t work?
I can show you some sympathy. I’m not a jerk!
You may eat cake and suffer my unyielding threat.
I’m profoundly grotesque, and it’s hard to be nice.

Have you talked to your landlords? They should share the blame.
After all, there is plenty. You all must partake.
Everyone in this nation is under my rule.
Anyone who thinks otherwise is a damned fool.
I can’t care about you. My own ass is at stake.
Fairly soon I’ll feel justice. You should feel the same.

Put Your Bitch On The Street! Leave the kids on their own.
Her income will replace yours while I break some wind.
If she’s not in the best shape, offer a discount.
Anyone with cold cash and is willing to mount
Is an asset you cannot afford to rescind.
All this talk of a crisis is way overblown.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Is America White Again?

TheMagicRealist.com

Are we having fun yet? Has the whitewash begun?
I’m prepared for some drama. So, how about you?
It has been nearly two years since, by Putin’s hand,
We’ve a leader forced on us who sleeps with the klan
In a way that most people see all the way through.
We take blood with our soil. Our work is never done.

Have you fulfilled your promise? Have we become white?
To give thanks for our fairness is irony squared.
Why you made it so far may be to fulfill fate.
We have updated programming written in hate.
Who would grin at the sight of our folks running scared
Through the streets of our nation? How are we to fight?

Some men are given credit for where we are now.
All they did was add salt to the wound that exists.
So, we must own our whiteness and work from within.
We alone can deal with our original sin.
Fully funded and fettered with handguns and fists,
Can we deal with our whiteness and evolve somehow?