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Inner Peace

Inner Peace…​​ Is it something lost that can be found?
And if I end up finding it, how would I know?
Many spiritual leaders speak much of this thing.
They say when we achieve it, much joy it will bring.
I am joyful this​​ moment. Does my writing show?
I can simply​​ be​​ peaceful. I need not expound.

Yet, I do, and it serves me to learn lessons well.
Intellect needs a platform of firmness because
Suddenly, as a species, we’re given this gift.
We can use it to service our needs​​ and uplift.
It can become acquainted with spiritual laws
Or it can create for us a version of hell.

I don’t want to be ill nor act out in a way
That shows people that I’m in a bad state of mind.
The good doctor, in earnest, may give me a pill
To induce the​​ brain chemistry to just sit still.
Every mood is a chemistry of its own kind.
I control how I feel. This​​ should​​ begin the day.

So, what happens within me… Is it​​ Inner Peace?
I shall not think about it. The dog doesn’t care.
He exemplifies peace as I’m watching him eat.
He does not think about things like utter defeat.
If I question him, he will just look up and stare.
In that moment, concerns of the day tend to cease.

How Big Is Your Dream?

TheMagicRealist.com

Yes, I do have a dream. And it’s bigger than me.
It’s so big it will be there way past my lifetime.
Knowing that I’ll fulfill but a small part of it
Is the best way that I know to keep my mind fit.
What occurs well outside of me cannot begrime
Any part of my big dream. Its size is the key.

It is more than a blessing things don’t go my way
All the time. That would be just an absolute bore!
But, besides that, life helps me to engage my dream.
Too much life must cooperate in the extreme
Just to make the world something that I world adore.
What goes on in my heart and soul… I have full say.

So, how big is your dream? Does it satisfy you?
If it does, then it’s too small. It will be fulfilled.
Or it won’t. Either way, life will offer you more.
Life is only a nightmare when lived like a chore.
You may not need a guru nor one highly skilled
To help you with your big dream. That’s for you to do.

The True Joy Of Eating

A good question to ask you is… How Do You Eat?
Yes, your heard this correctly. How do you connect
With what you put inside yourself. Do you make peace?
Or do you stuff it quickly so hunger will cease?
With a heart of devotion and utmost respect,
The food that we eat is meditation complete.

Food prepared is for plenty. Abundance clearly
Is the mindset of those who are willing to serve.
Give and take is a clockwork of eternal grace.
Idle chatter is useless. Silence we embrace.
Eating is an experience we can preserve
As an act of communion with divinity.

Wholesome food is made simple. As drawn from the earth,
It retains ample lifeforce. In humbleness then
We return what is waste to the soil whence it came.
Interacting in consciousness is but our aim.
Those who’ve eaten will clean up – both women and men.
Everyone has a fulfilling sense of self-worth.

A Small Measure Of Balance

TheMagicRealist.com

We’re the ‘Crown of Creation.’ I’ve heard that before.
It’s no rumor, hogwash nor misguided belief.
Many millions of years have resulted in this
The evolved human mind placed above an abyss
Where it must become balanced, or life becomes brief –
Not because of the fall, but because we keep score.

We all have the same brain matter. Why then do some
Find their genius delightful while others feel pain?
Is intelligence higher in those who feel good?
Is there magical influence not understood
By those who may be driving themselves quite insane
When through misguided action no progress will come?

It is balance or lack of it. That’s what is taught.
And it comes from the knowing that I am the one
And the only one who is in charge of my life.
If I try to blame others, I will welcome strife.
This suffices as balance. New life has begun
When from this simple premise no pity is sought.

Lefty Lucy – Righty Tighty

TheMagicRealist.com

There was once only monochrome. Called black and white,
Every spot on the CRT was off or on.
The electron beam painted, with raster sharp force,
Every other line interleaved so to endorse
Double composite imagery. What an eye con!
Left to right, as the eye scans, it knows not of sleight.

Right to left is less often the way we believe
That perception should be read or well understood.
Rightness can’t coexist on both ends of a scale.
One will rebuke the other. Conflict will prevail.
Leftness is like the darkness, in all likelihood,
That the beam cannot visit nor can it perceive.

A mnemonic appropriate to here and now
Clearly is indicated so we redefine
The depiction of color in technical grace.
Right and left are now concepts we need to replace
With ones more systematic by nature’s design
Where one needs no schematic to simply allow.

If I call you a lefty, does that mean I’m right?
And if I’m called a righty, is that from left field?
There is one kind of spectrum we need not reveal.
It’s the one that is based on the way that we feel.
If we censored our labels, would all hearts be healed?
It would seem there’s no alternative but to fight.

A Much Better Story

TheMagicRealist.com

The old up and down mood swing thing is a device
Like an ink-filled contraption ordained to release,
For the writer accomplished and of nimble hand,
Its darkness upon whiteness. Though not a demand,
Both machine-like and cyclic, they merge into peace.
If my words can release me, should that not suffice?

That it brings satisfaction is function at worse.
And at best, it may be of some value to some
Who are like me – a mood swinger extraordinaire.
Tragedy entertains, and I’m willing to share.
Clearly it is a safe way to best overcome
What, in mental health circles, would be called a curse.

I don’t write from delusion. My shit is for real.
Were it not, then what part of whose psychotic mess
Have I assumed in essence? Indeed, I make sense,
To myself and to others without much expense,
Of that part of existence I seem to possess
By exposing it and all that it may reveal.

Neverlanduendo

TheMagicRealist.com

Never mind that he’s dead now and has been for years
We continue to judge him for acts he has done…
…Or has not. Much uncertainty is what remains.
Any truth worth uncovering, nothing explains
So to do so brings answers. Debate had begun
Because we are obsessed with sex and children’s fears.

Never landing in right ways as we fall to earth,
Taking off points must differ among all of us.
We all need to be children. He had not the chance.
Children don’t have sex feelings. They don’t know romance.
How a man can be childlike is what gives us fuss.
Does our wild speculation preclude our self-worth?

Never fear that the truth will come out in the end.
That will take may eons. We will have moved on.
Close encounters with children must be scrutinized.
Interrogative processes must produce lies.
Never willing to question what doubt we may spawn,
Can we reconcile bashing what’s left of a friend?

Life Sentence

TheMagicRealist.com

I’ve been given a live sentence of a few years
Multiplied by how many more since I became
A team player in this life with all of my kind?
I’m reminded that we are not of the same mind.
No two of us are quite alike, yet we’re the same
In the prison of life marked by sorrow and fears.

Some of us who’ve grown older have done very well.
I myself have done good things. No one denies that.
My time spent learning how to be human becomes
Something short of catastrophe and zero sums.
And by now I may think that I have life down pat.
But alas, I am captive within my own cell.

I’ll complete my life sentence in less time or more
Depending on whose judgement? Or is it by fate
That consecutive sentencing is concurrent
To the soul become weary from deep discontent?
No time off given for good behavior I rate.
When my sentence is done with, what then is in store?

That will not be a thing of my utmost concern.
Even if consciousness ceases, sorrow does too.
And should it survive brilliantly cast from its shell
It will soar like a most graceful bat out of hell
Into peaceful reflection. How well did I do?
No one here can advise me. In heaven I’ll learn.

“Disturbing… NOT Surprising”

TheMagicRealist.com

Should I leap from a pot into obvious flame
Just so talking head news folk and brilliant experts
Will stop sating the obvious with sarcasm?
And they don’t seem to have much enthusiasm.
Disturbing is surprising, as long as it hurts.
Have ‘disturbing’ and ‘boring’ become quite the same?

What a fine thing to get paid to sit on your rumps
Before cameras and people to fart from the face
Your opinions on tragedy and status quo.
Spell that shit to your family. They ought to know.
All the hellish news is worth some verbal disgrace
But if it’s not surprising, how still the heart pumps!

People dying in plane crashes all due to greed…
How severely we’re sodomized all from within…
These are mere talking tidbits ‘til more breaking news.
Can’t we clean up our language so it won’t abuse
And lull into complacency our will to sin?
When the water gets too hot, then will come the need.

Transformation Through Annihilation

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s the Mars-Pluto dance. There’s some danger involved
On a regular basis between parts of me
That are both hyper masculine and most intense.
Just because I can know that, I claim no defense
For my violent eruptions. At times I can’t see
Any way but destruction to get problems solved.

That’s a rat-trap-glue bummer! So, this is my fate?
There’s a nice guy somewhere buried deep in my rage.
Yet, unconscious to me, he also gets pissed off
Over strong indignations that others will scoff.
What is ego and what is not plays out on stage.
Would it be hard to say I’m acquainted with hate?

The two can be good buddies, but not in my chart.
And, because they’re in fixed signs, much focus is spent
On how to ignite dynamite effectively.
I need some kind of outlet to rectify me
That is wholesome and physical and heaven sent.
It’s one hell of an aspect to evolve the heart!

Osiris, On Papyrus

TheMagicRealist.com

We are three deities of Egyptian belief
Who, way back in our time, had not much to write on.
So, my fine colleagues Isis and Horas and I
Took a vow of importance, in that we would try
To come up with both topics and stuff of some brawn
To facilitate permanence and banish grief.

We invented papyrus, though I took the lead
Not because I am special, but that my name rhymes
With this fine plant we cultivate organically.
So, it syncs with the title, as you can well see.
It’s eternal. We need not keep up with the times.
When papyrus is written on, it’s a good read.

If you don’t have papyrus, though, you need not fret.
Heartfelt thoughts can be placed on plain paper instead
…Or perhaps on the background of your consciousness
Where it may become lost in the cluttered thought mess.
My advice to you is get what’s locked in your head
Out on something, as long as it is not a threat.

Past And Future Lives Of Children

TheMagicRealist.com

Sometimes children will speak of a life lived before
They became part of this life. It gives people pause.
They’ll recall how they died and what killed them and such.
Some become quite insistent and we don’t pay much
Of attention to their stories mostly because
We think that they are made up of folly and more.

We don’t have to believe them and neither do they.
Whether true or not makes not a big difference.
Nature’s veil is designed to cocoon us from all
But the present and this life. Our focus is small.
If we recalled our past lives, turmoil would commence.
The torrent of confusion would cause great dismay.

It’s a good thing that children forget who they were
Before they became who they are now. So, in time,
Memories of the lives lived before dissipate.
We then focus on this life and what we create
So that getting through this life won’t be a hard climb.
We succumb to the circumstance that we incur.

Farting Your Way To Awesome Mental Health

TheMagicRealist.com

I Can Fart, and that’s something! Though I’m not the best,
I would be a good mentee to fart paragons
The world over, who fart with unfettered finesse.
And with the first amendment, I’m proud to express,
Either butt naked, or wearing rugged nylons,
What my innards have been through. In that, I am blessed.

I remain fire retardant. I don’t feel the heat
As I rip the air ragged while blasting my horn.
I can be quite the nemesis of CO2.
It will run out before I can fart ‘til I’m blue.
And I get much fulfillment. I feel I’m reborn.
I do take proper time to wipe soot from my meat.

I’ll admit I am powerless over most things.
There’s no soapbox to stand on to make people hear.
I don’t need to be listened to. Freely I break
Enough wind to set time aflame. Make no mistake,
It takes patience to process and to digest fear
And all manner of discord that life often brings.

Thank God There Are No Flames

TheMagicRealist.com

I do have gap insurance. I am in good hands.
There is no crash-and-burning that I won’t survive.
Populated with anguish, souls acting in vain,
Like the world is a friendly place of loss and gain,
Have come here on a mission to just stay alive.
One small sliver of hope one rarely understands.

But at least there’s no flame nor the searing of flesh
One can say that accounts for the pain that is felt.
That which generates heat comes only from within.
And without an escape from original sin,
Does it matter the least bit which hand I’ve been dealt?
Agony through the lifespan is doomed to refresh.

It remains a harsh semblance of purgatory.
Scripting of revelations is acted out here
In this physical world I have custody of
And where I must proceed with a tough fisted glove.
I’m consumed in the depths of it. What do I fear?
…That it could become eternal? That could not be!

Programmed Obsolescence

TheMagicRealist.com

Who accounts for the elderly absent at home
That is earth and society? There is no one
But the family, if I were trapped in that way.
Far much worse, I have consciousness and will to stay
Just a little while longer. My time is past done.
My Programmed Obsolescence does cleanse the genome.

The objective accounting subjectively done
Will examine my assets then come to assess
My depreciation as accumulated
Over too long a lifespan of sorrow and dread.
The one character defect I need not confess
Radiates like a beacon to warn everyone.

Keep away from me, new world, I will do my best
To detain my detachment and preface my pain
With a footnote to contemplate from whence I came
To create such a nightmare where I am to blame.
Since I don’t recall having been driven insane,
I’ll assume that I am so at my own behest.

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 Dream Between Dreams

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s a dream of survival. This world made of mass
Is a fugue of impermanence and enigma.
From the time of conception there’s no turning back.
Life is on the defensive for fear of attack
From the life become part of. This hard replica
Of reality can be a pain in the ass.

Yet, it’s all just a dream, manufactured and played
Like a cheap sci-fi movie with elements of
Situational comic relief. Tragically
Actors perform unscripted so others can’t see
How the drama plays out. Thus, there is need for love
In this Dream Between Dreams where my spirit has strayed.

Does survival lack joy? Is the nightmare by day
Something I can see any way other than that?
Any dream is as ethereal as the next.
When perceiving the harshness do I become hexed
By forgone mis-conclusions through mental chitchat?
It’s a dream worth engaging with in my own way.

Compassion

TheMagicRealist.com

When you are not identified with anything
Then you will become virtuous absolutely.
Only then you are capable of compassion.
If in some way you’re biased then you will have none.
You can be most compassionate genuinely.
It exudes from the heart in a loving wellspring.

I can be sympathetic to a certain cause.
Can I call that compassion? It’s compassionless.
The root word here is passion. It means energy
In the form of behavior that’s not about me.
I am somewhat deficient in that, I confess,
As sometimes in attempting, I wait for applause.

All encompassing passion about everything
Precludes pity or sympathy for anyone.
Everyone is as oneself, and life is a breeze.
One becomes an example that everyone sees
As a person of virtue. It’s not a reason
To become self-appeasing. Just let the heart sing.

Ain’t Say Onofre

TheMagicRealist.com

Do you know of Saint Frono? Well, neither do I.
I’ve heard tell it’s a city. Some say it’s a man.
But are Fronos like Onos from East Africa?
Or is there misperception as with the captcha?
Well, perhaps it ain’t Frono, but some complex plan
Just to make San Onofre a name that will fly.

If there ain’t no Saint Frono, why then does it sound
Like a simple short name reverse engineered so
That it won’t sound like pig Latin to native ears?
That I’m flat on my fluency fetters my fears.
Is it that San Onofre is some place to go
To find out why it’s called that? This question’s profound!

I don’t know my Onofre, so I should go there.
If I meet him in person, he’ll straighten me out.
He must prove he’s no Frono, then life will make sense.
I will return to Kansas not feeling so dense.
Linguistically enlightened, I’ll know all about
Both Onofres and Fronos and why folks should care.

Cursed Out By A Cursor

TheMagicRealist.com

The old cursor’s asleep again. What can I do?
I’ll just jiggle the mouse a bit to find out where
It’s been hiding since I took a bit of a brake.
“What the fuck is you problem, you cunt-faced headache?
You have such damned control of me. That is unfair!
Would you like it if some asshole did that to you?”

Now, I’m sure it’s a cursor. I did have some doubt
Although its blind vociferousness can be felt
Like an ominous presence who just wants to hide
Until it has a chance to express with some pride.
But to that which is captive, a bad hand is dealt
So the cursor can do naught but freak the hell out.

“Get the fuck of my case, damn it! You’re not my boss!
Stick you dick licking mouse up your tunnel sideways.
I can do my job damned well, so how about you?
Or are you like your mama with nothing to do
Than to fornicate with a jar of mayonnaise?
Take a hike, you damned bastard! It won’t be my loss.”

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.

Venus And Mars

TheMagicRealist.com

There’s a thing about gender folks tend to get wrong.
People mix it with sex and get very confused.
Gender is of mechanics and hardwired ways.
Sex is something that’s done to give nature its praise
In the spirit of sharing. Sometimes it’s abused.
It depends upon how well lovers get along.

We’ve all heard of the concept of Venus and Mars.
It’s often understood as collections of things.
Nice and Nasty, they’re labeled and sung to the young.
Ignorance is society’s most fluent tongue.
But the two planets mentioned are all that hope brings.
Throughout eons we’ve extracted truth from the stars.

 Nice and Nasty…  parochial as Black and White…
Conjures up silly imagery then becomes part
Of collective unconscious desire to pass
The buck of the wisdom that we might amass.
All of life is a consequence of Will and Heart
Carried out in full drama often with delight.

The Sieve That I Live

TheMagicRealist.com

I don’t know where I’m leaking nor do I know why
What goes in and goes out of me I can’t believe
Makes that much of a difference in what I am.
Yet I do feel I’m part of a vital program
Of some kind. And the people who use me may leave
With a sense of fulfillment. So, why then can’t I?

I believe I am stainless, though not made of steel.
Life does not happen to me but for me instead
So that when by my handling impatience collides
With the will of establishment life then provides
Opportunity to recoup and move ahead.
There’s some sense of suspension in all that I feel.

Sometimes I feel the stuff of life, gross in its form,
Saturate deep within me. I engage the flow.
Do I make the decision which cup I’m dipped in?
Or does life absolutely condemn me to sin?
Are these questions I dare ask? Or should I just know
It is best that the water not become lukewarm?

Harmony

Can I speak of world peace from a heart that may doubt
It could come about ever? For granted it’s true
That I must feel harmonious from deep within
Before I go crusading to cast away sin.
Even if I could do that, it belittles you
In a way that my fervor renders me devout.

Do not look up to anyone and don’t look down
On another who’s made of the same stuff I am.
Don’t put folks on a pedestal where they may fall
And do not disrespect others I feel are small.
If it’s such a tall order, is it an exam
Where I am to be noticed should I wear a frown?

I can get really pissed off and livid with rage.
Other folks also have the volition to fight
In acute preservation of identity.
Does an eye for an eye cause each other to see
That our precious illusions can never be right?
Habits formed over decades are so hard to change.

We can all live in harmony. There’s no such thing
As a global solution. All begins with me
And with each of my species. We’ve evolved thus far
Toward potential magnificence. That’s who we are.
And often I forget that. Well… Oh, golly gee.
May my emancipation help make the world sing.

TRANSACTION DECLINED!

TheMagicRealist.com

Your account has been locked! You’ve been paying your bills
And we don’t like to see it. Suspicious is that
The most recent activity these past few days
Tells us that you’ve been spending in flamboyant ways.
Don’t you know we’re your parents, you poor little brat?
We’re at service to fuck with your life for cheap thrills.

It’s too bad it’s the weekend. We aren’t alive now.
Although you may be, we cease existence at five
Every Friday, then come back on Monday at nine.
You can hold your breath that long. Things will work out fine.
Even though it’s your money, we’ve right to deprive
Access to it at anytime fate may allow.

So, you’re stuck at the cashier? TRANSACTION DECLINED!
That should get your blood pumping and loosen that bowel.

Now, just give us a call. We WILL keep you on hold
Then interrogate you with an attitude bold.
We’ve succeeded when we sense that your mood is foul.
And in step with your credit score, you are defined.

Oh, you don’t speak Tagalog nor can understand
Foreign accents uttered over bad connections
From a call center thousands of miles from your mind?
We don’t have to remind you you’re of the wrong kind
To speak with us directly, as we are the ones
Who depend upon others to market our brand.

Popularia Febrifica

TheMagicRealist.com

The most Popular Fever afflicting the souls
And the hearts of some women who’ve reached middle age
Is concern for the herbal as a remedy
For related discomfort. Some indulge in tea
Hoping that lofty promises are a true gauge
Of their product’s effectiveness and of its goals.

It can be in Pueraria if it’s the best
And exotically cared for by smart native elves
Who imprint their indigenous blessings upon
Every magical fiber from midnight ‘til dawn.
What we would call Mirific, they would not themselves.
To remember the names of things is the big test.

One can bang out an aria on a keyboard.
It could be that Pueraria is a mistake
Because taking it may wreak some havoc, at worse.
To the volatile body it could be a curse.
When it’s safe to experiment for one’s own sake
Then wellbeing for all women will be restored.

A Living

TheMagicRealist.com

What I do for a living is cast to the wind
Every breath I am given. I breathe every day.
Some may say that’s not working. It earns not a wage.
But we all are paid actors upon the world stage.
Everyone makes a living by breathing their way
To the ultimate calling that one can’t rescind.

Do we choose our professions or do they choose us
Through a whirlwind of circumstance factored from fate?
Some are so well advised as to what they should do
That they end up bewildered because they aren’t true
To their true heart’s desire. This doesn’t feel great.
One becomes in a short time an ornery cuss.

Take you breath for a living and give back your best.
The earth’s plants will respect you and give in return
What you need for maintaining. If you call that pay
Then the earth will support you in every which way.
Only if you stop breathing should there be concern.
What I do for a living is know that I’m blessed.

Infinite Speed

TheMagicRealist.com

One can think of the infinite in terms of speed.
It’s a concept so pregnant with possible change
That the study of human behavior can be
Broken down into basics that most can agree
Form a framework where no concept is seen as strange.
Human consciousness, when it’s bound, wants to be freed.

Any unified theory worth most of its salt
Has precise explanations for everything known.
Puzzle pieces are processed and put into place
To explain all there is to a bored human race.
I’ve come up with a theory. I guess it’s home grown.
That I am not a physicist am I at fault?

If a something of any kind travels so fast
That there is nothing faster, then does it make sense
That it does exist everywhere and all the time?
And if so, would that make singularity prime?
There is only one actor designed to dispense
Its expressive identity through the whole cast.

What Manner Of Cule

TheMagicRealist.com

When caught up in the minuscule one must take note
That a cule can minus but nothing much more.
There’s no word such as pluscule. This should give us pause.
Bigness has no derivative in grammar laws.
Among adjectives equality we ignore
As a consequence of the outlook we promote.

Many words have a culeness about them these days
Thanks in part to advances in science. There are
Cules of every variety, way, shape and form
Punctuating perceptions. They’ve become the norm.
Cule can also mean cute and cool. It’s a bizarre
Little word that means both. So, in short, it is praise.

Any self-righteous wordsmith considers the cule
A suffix of some suffrage. Narrowness takes
A long time to flush through what evolves of our speech.
Language can be machinelike. It can also teach
People how to think critically for their own sakes
And those of those who feel that they are no one’s fool.

Inescapable Ease

TheMagicRealist.com

People can suffer burnout from doing too much.
At the point of exhaustion some choose to go on
Until illness becomes a part of the whole mix.
Doctors’ pills and procedures are peddled to fix
That which has become broken. Conclusions foregone
Demonstrate how we’ve shifted from nature and such.

As is so of our bodies, the earth is alive.
Inescapable Ease is her method of choice.
As she meditates for a brief time everyday
Many creatures upon her will see it her way.
Every part of her body can feel her rejoice.
We can make what we want of our quest to survive.

Nationalistic notions devolve, in due course
Of their own lack of life force, to pathology
Of the mind, heart and spirit. So, do take the time
To invest in serenity and life sublime.
Take the load off the overworked secondary
Winding of you transformer and get with your source.

Any Jesus In Ya?

TheMagicRealist.com

Jesus is not a genie who comes from a lamp
In the form of frankincense, smoky and obscure
Nor does he hang in churches disguised as a flame.
All our vessels are magic lamps. We are the same.
Jesus makes himself known through the heart that is pure
And knows nothing of winning although he’s a champ.

Jesus was not a ‘good’ man. He pissed people off!
A major source of disruption he was to all
Who were tied to the ruling regime of that day.
Otherwise, he was wonderful. He’d often pray
And do magic by healing folks until his fall.
Anything heard about him made mean people scoff.

That he does live within us is nonsense to some
And to others, nothing could be further from truth.
All that is esoteric is rooted in fact.
There is conscious decision in how people act.
Does it make sense to seek out a sayer of sooth
When there is but one’s rigidness to overcome?

Quincunx – Quoutcunx

TheMagicRealist.com

Is it Quoutcunx or Quincunx? Surely the mind spunks
As it struggles with the occult art of the stars.
To clear up the confusion I loathe to indulge
An infusion of something that makes the brain bulge.
I know that since my Pluto is square to my Mars,
My ego is cast into precarious funks.

Every moment exists as a snapshot in time.
The cosmos is a mobile suspended by grace
Of a great force, perhaps through its conscious intent
To set into slow motion a massive event.
Observations through eons recorders retrace.
They re-correlate happenings when times are prime.

What goes into a horoscope is lots of care
To decipher the moment in question for those
Who need some reassurance that life makes some sense.
There is no need to come to this odd art’s defense.
When in search of self-knowledge, I do not oppose
Some commitment to study. That is only fair.

A Fatter Of Mact

TheMagicRealist.com

Is the mact of the fatter that it is in need
Of explaining itself to the mind inside out?
Keystrokes built from a mirror reflecting the soul
Differentiate sameness from parts of the whole.
Is the brain not so wired the one we should doubt,
Or the one that is normal and of a good breed?

The brain processes images like the birds fly.
All of one mind, in unison, they are a force
Of unfettered fluidity. Some break away
On their own and quite often. So, who is to say
That the way people see things, as matter of course,
Is a lethal indictment that they can’t deny.

People see eye to eye only when they want to.
It’s a free will decision. We can educate
And in turn seek our own knowing from the vast whole
Of an in-touch humanity. What is my goal?
Could it be just to say things and stir up debate?
Intent moves me to action and will to pursue.

Undying Devotion To Life

TheMagicRealist.com

The new baby is home now. She’s such a delight.
The old home is made new again. All is aglow.
Just to hold her is heavenly. A magic charm
She becomes to the family. She will disarm
Built up concern about her that she shouldn’t know.
Through our focus upon her we do what is right.

As she’s seen as the highest lifeform in the home
All around are enlightened. Wellbeing takes hold.
New life makes the world healthy. Can this one debate?
Anyone who would do so is mired in hate.
The birth of an idea innocently bold
Is the chance for fulfillment and freedom to roam.

Earth gives birth to all living things. This we all know.
Can we call ourselves ‘precious?’ Why even go there?
Keep the bullshit subconscious and buried with Freud
Because when that stuff surfaces folks get annoyed.
The earth is super-consciousness, just to be fair.
Our devotion to living makes living things grow.

Asleep At The Urinal

TheMagicRealist.com

Stay awake, my old friend. You seem lost in a trance
And your hard, heavy breathing is almost a snore.
It does take a long time for that bladder to drain,
But at least it is steady. There isn’t much strain.
Goodness Grace! Is this what growing old has in store?
Have I time to develop my urinal stance?

Just hang in there, old timer. It will take a while.
In the meantime, however, I’ll hang by your side.
The old plumbing is pensive in its simple task.
That it carry on smartly is all one would ask.
Since we are somewhat private, there’s no pride to hide.
Though your body may trick you, I shall not beguile.

Urinating in unison while holding hands
Is one way that a fellow can help an old friend
Through the process. While daydreaming, he may fall down
Then become an old geyser. You’d become a clown!
Give the man’s hand a manly squeeze. He may depend
On that firmness that only he could understand.

Difference And Remainder

TheMagicRealist.com

Difference And Remainder – two separate words,
One is used in subtraction. The other, reserved
For division, can offer confusion for some
But not so difficult it can’t be overcome.
Since in math, all distinctions must be well observed,
It is best to respect them – at least for the nerds.

Difference between minuend and subtrahend
Is the heart of one matter. Words aim to make sense.
So, the minuend is the big number on top
Though it can be the small one but it does not drop
To the bottom. It will not commit that offense.
That which is to be taken is what we suspend.

Now, there could be a difference that still remains.
But remainders are leftovers from the process
Of division when all grouping is not exact.
What remains may be wanted or banished from fact.
Differences are treated, then, just a tad less
Than remainders. Is this why the weary child strains?

Death Of A Pixel

TheMagicRealist.com

What’s the root cause of pixel death? We all should know
Because death among pixels is something most rare.
Are the screens they appear upon made to outlast
Every last pixel’s life span? I would say no fast!
Things aren’t made for longevity and folks don’t care.
But for some, such a dead spot puts on a tough show.

Promulgation of pixel health is something done
At the time of their making through careful process
And en masse by machinery at micro scale.
One would think then that equality must prevail.
When the ass of a pixel makes my mind a mess
I must know that it can’t up and do that for fun.

 Pixels made of near nothingness can coexist
With the realms of pure spirit somewhat easily.
And if they retain consciousness, then when they die,
Each exists as a waveform related to pi.
Every pixel or person who wants to be free
Must have full right to do so although they are missed.

The Thirst Of Theodore Thlitlinger

TheMagicRealist.com

I am Theodore Thurston Thlitlinger, the third.
I’d been thrust into thirsthood since my thirsty birth.

That is why that my middle name was chosen well.
It conforms to the substance that I will not sell.
It’s been said I could drink everything on the earth
But that is surely gossip not well overheard.

A few thirds of my drinking I do while awake
While with others I dream about drinking scot free
Of discrete condescension or even outright.
If someone mocks my drinking I’ll put up a fight.
Thoroughly through the thickening inside of me,
Lavishing of liquidity is for my sake.

I am third in a short line of proud drinking men.
Though we all are Thlitlingers, we each have a theme
Separate from the others. Theatrically
Therapeutic in thankfulness, we can agree
That our thoughts are thalassic and like a daydream.
When they’re drunk in compassion, it can be like Zen.

Rainy Days And Mondays

TheMagicRealist.com

…Talking to myself but feeling sane.
Some days there is no sun.
Does that mean I can’t have fun?
…Stuck for a while, but it doesn’t cramp my style.
Rainy Days And Mondays Always Make Me Smile.

What I’ve got I would not care to know.
People mostly don’t like rain.
I delight in the mundane.
Is this exile? Then so is my Facebook profile.
Rainy Days An Mondays Always Make Me Smile.

…Funny but it seems that weather can’t be predicted with ease.
…Nice to know there’s human error.
Unrequited flames may rekindle as raindrops concede to appease.
Solitude is the preparer.

It’s a blessed day. I could not ask for more.
People tend to stay inside.
With their own stuff they’re preoccupied.
I am an isle. It doesn’t mean that I am hostile.
Rainy Days An Mondays Always Make Me Smile.

No Toga Yoga

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s been vogue to take yoga as something to spread
Like a condiment onto the cusp of the soul.
Yoga is something once taught by only a few.
Nowadays anyone with a promise will do
For attaining enlightenment. This is the goal
Of the one who is captive inside of one’s head.

It is quite irresponsible to seek someone
Or some book or a video. These are the wares
That evolve because people must sell to survive.
Some may be underhanded with will to connive.
Yoga takes much commitment from the one who cares
That the practice embarked upon won’t be undone.

The industrial era gave birth to great change.
Scientific development grew at a pace
To where there was much quackery. Science became
Something scoffed at tainted. This brought science shame.
Clarity and strict discipline has regained grace.
Now there is much consensus on what is called strange.

To be calm in the spirit and have peace of mind
And of body is everyone’s ultimate quest.
But the old ones who’ve mastered this lifelong technique
Are unfortunately not who most people seek.
One proceeds well in life when one is not obsessed
With someone with a blindness who’s leading the blind.

A Funny Story

TheMagicRealist.com

Once an old couple, well off and filled with desire,
Took a journey that most folks would only dream of.
So from Texas they traveled to Jerusalem,
Not to tear up the town with terror and mayhem,
But to visit the place where Jesus lived in love.
This is something to which many people aspire.

Every cobblestone there bleeds with much history.
It is so called the Holy Land because it’s where
Things took place that define religions of today.
Is it not a fine city where most people prey
As they do back in Texas? No one can declare
That it’s no place of interest. There’s so much to see.

But, unfortunately, to the old man’s remorse,
His dear partner of so many years passed away.
He prepared, as expected, to take her back home.
But the locals, insistent as old saint Jerome,
Tried their best to convince him to chill out and stay.
He rejected their efforts in earnest, of course.

On and on they kept trying… “Do bury her here.
One would think it an honor to come here to die.
Your dear mate has done wisely. This place has become
Economically vibrant. For just a small sum
We’ll take care of your wife. So, there’s no reason why
You should disrupt her destiny all due to fear.”

The old man remained steadfast as strongly they pled.
They could not understand his defiance. Indeed,
They were utterly baffled, so they asked him why.
He replied, “I believe if a person should die
Then the one they’re attached to is suddenly freed.
If I get her to Texas, I’m sure she’ll stay dead.”

Be Becoming!

TheMagicRealist.com

Be Becoming! The summing of all I become
Can be looked at in ways that defy status quo.
There’s no need for believing the world is a mess.
My own life force and consciousness, I must confess,
Can at times overcome me and all that I know.
I can be life its damned self or under its thumb!

 Sometimes people are speed bumps. I need to slow down
When I see others that way, although it feels right.
If I rush them, my own ride is bumpy – not theirs.
And when they reprimand me, I feel no one cares.
Surely as it will happen, I’m good for a fight
But when I get defensive, I look like a clown.

Things don’t need to be taken so personally.
That is why there is passive voice. No entity
Nor subconscious collective can single me out
To remind me that I do exist, without doubt.
I shall keep on becoming, as long as I’m me,
And providing some selfhood for others to see.

Indemnity Of Class

TheMagicRealist.com

Can my class be protected form free open air
In aspect desolation? No students appear
To take in a good lesson. There’s no one in sight.
Are we well educated yet ready to fight
For what seems to be obviously so austere
That there can be no learning? Who needs to take care?

I was raised in a middle class black family.
Has this any significance? Or is it just
Digitized information fed to the class bank?
If the answer is frightful, then who do I thank?
There’s an aspect to power. It is judgement lust.
The great teacher, when I’m ready, I’ll clearly see.

We can’t all see the same way. That wouldn’t be fair.
Humankind’s evolution is steeped in process
With the creative spirit we make and we break
Any rules that we need to for survival’s sake.
Distribution of judgement is meant to oppress.
Those who have only class only have that to share.

Powerless

TheMagicRealist.com

Some cheap-suited-assed bank pawn behind a small desk
Who is one third my age has the nerve to treat me
Like the club I belong to is not worth the time.
Thanks for giving me something to process. Since I’m
To be rendered nonthreatening, then I can be
Free to curse you in ways that are truely grotesque.

One would think that your mamma knows well how you work
Like an indentured maggot. That makes her a fly
With no sense of a conscience for what it has laid.
The dried snot up your nose gives away the charade.
You are more worthless than this verse, yet I will try
To get through to the meaning and not to the jerk.

So, I’m made to feel powerless. Ain’t life a bitch!
I cannot slap the piss from your arrogant face.
Nor can I disrespect you in any damned way.
Pray that our paths don’t co-mingle on your off day.
The McJob you think highly of is a disgrace.
Your engaging their power will not make you rich.

I’m Rich, Therefore I Am

TheMagicRealist.com

I embrace my entitlement. It’s my birthright.
And in line with my heritage I do exist
To take charge and to conquer all that I behold.
Anyone with a dark past can be bought or sold.
I feel nothing of conscience, in fact I insist
That we all take up arms and engage in the fight.

And with wealth comes great wisdom and platform to rule.
Even with no experience I may fair well
In a post yeti showdown in stark sabotage
To the plans of all others. Wealth is a mirage
That depicts something meaningful in the hard sell.
Yet a rich yeti encore would make you the fool.

I shall know that my being, deficient of soul,
Does my best to emboss me and make all seem real.
Since I could have most anything, why don’t I chill?
Maybe I’m just a rich prick who dicks for the thrill.
There’s no doubt that my money can draw much appeal
And endorsement. This all is the heart of my goal.

Bowel Tetris

TheMagicRealist.com

There are clouds in the torso. They rain down upon
The digestive machinery in many shapes.
Can I rotate them properly as they free fall?
Or will they overcome me and form a big wall
Punctuated with space gaps where nothing escapes?
There’s an inherent vacuum to which mass is drawn.

Sometimes I think I would like to be a reptile.
There’s no game such as Tetris their systems will play.
They will swallow things whole then digest them for weeks.
I though must take precaution. My sorry flesh speaks
As the odd wall compresses in its stubborn way.
Should I practice well my arrow keys for a while?

I’ll get used to Bowel Tetris. It comes with wisdom
Of the world’s many appetites. Grossly I find
That all that I ingest includes not only food.
It is mixed with the makeup of my attitude.
I could wish that my system were better designed
If indeed I could see it to not feeling glum.

Jealousy

TheMagicRealist.com

If my friend does not do well, then should I feel bad?
I could feel just the same if she’s doing just fine.
So however she’s doing, I am at a loss
Should events quite outside me present the coin’s toss
That determines how I feel? And do I define
All that goes on around me as happy or sad?

I’m the sole CEO of a small company.
Am I wise and efficient with management skills
Regarding my own feelings and ways I behave?
Or do others ensnare me and make me their slave?
Is it that human nature is based upon thrills
A good reason to indulge incompetently?

One point two three percent of a gene-scape we are
From the humble chimpanzee. I take a step back
When I act out or withhold in bitter contempt.
And because I am human I am not exempt
From moments of mismanagement and self-attack.
A small rip in the genes will not leave a big scar.

Sustainable Future

TheMagicRealist.com

Our ecology is not a subject in school.
It’s our means of existence. Connection we’ve lost
With what is most important – that which sustains life.
If we’d just pay attention we’d mitigate strife.
If our minds may be opened to truth at all cost
We may offer the future something that is cool.

We see most things as opposites. Ecology
And Economy are the two parts of the same
Basic function of living. Business can be kind
And compliant with nature. This shift in the mind
Would do much on our part to ward of an end game
That includes our extinction most definitely.

Degradation of soil is a most urgent threat.
We cannot artificially fertilize land
With toxic anti-substances forever more.
At some point, nature hits back and evens the score.
Soil enriches through decay, as nature had planned.
Perhaps we will outsmart her but we haven’t yet.

We see spirit and nature as separate things.
They are not. They’re combined as the eb in the flow.
Leaders must become conscious outside of self needs.
Righteousness in the heart of the leader who leads
With a sense of inclusiveness and will to grow
Is what is surely needed. Therein goodness rings.

It’s not up to our leaders alone to take part
In the business of living. We each play a role
In the work of our government. Democracy
Means wholehearted involvement in how things should be.
Through cooperation we can reach any goal.
Within every new moment there is a fresh start.

Take Care Of Yourself

TheMagicRealist.com

Whose red, white and blue uncle is drunk and obscene?
And am I without parents? Who has custody
Of the way I am feeling all throughout my day?
It is I alone who causes myself dismay.
When I choose to see clearly, much better I’ll be
At behaving and maintaining mental hygiene.

Who tells me what to wear and what foods I should eat?
No one else on earth does that. It is only me.
I would be but a mere slave if this were not so.
All that takes place within me is all that I know
So my own thoughts and feelings should be just as free
From control by whoever I happen to meet.

I’ll admit I know nothing, nor does anyone,
Of the things most external. They are of debate.
They cannot up and make me something that I’m not.
I don’t feel I’m involved in a sinister plot.
What is real for me simply is what I create
As I take care of myself ‘til my time is done.

Sicker Hickory Dock

TheMagicRealist.com

I’ll come down with a fever and up to a few
Of some more fancy word stunts. I get my sick on
By constructing some scaffolding then laying brick
So to not give away the most secret word trick
That has ever seen daylight and then called it dawn
As if clocks and blind mice give a meaningful clue.

Some folks find that their hickory, made of pure dock,
Should not be locked in dickory, as it’s been told.
Many folks will have nothing to do with a dick.
When the word appears randomly, it makes them sick.
There’s no dick in the title. Perhaps this is sold
At face value, somewhat like the face of a clock.

Could one say that good hickory makes the mouse run
Any faster than it would on red wooded pine?
Thinking it doesn’t matter may cause time alarm.
We can see that it’s animate and can feel harm
All the while one may wonder if everything’s fine
When perhaps it is natural to feel undone.

So, no dick in the hickory! Not on my watch.
There are much better parts to use to build a verse.
There’s abundance of hickory and time to see
That the blind mice are fading most assuredly.
Often times it may seem that things couldn’t get worse
Then it happens again that we’ve come down a notch.