Tag Archive | alternate reality

God Hangs Out in The Strangest of Places


Many men will find God somewhere near a girl’s butt
And it might as well happen since God’s everywhere.
Among butts, He’s not hiding. He’s out in plain view
Taking pride in His fine work and blessing it too
They’re designed so that young men will put their eyes there.
What he might end up finding there, heaven knows what.

Place that butt on a platter of silver or gold.
Put it up on a pedestal. Let it perform.
To stir up some excitement, they fashion their walk.
And it matters the least bit that others may balk.
I appreciate girl butts. I’d hope that’s the norm.
As I take notice of them, I’ll never grow old.

Women’s butts are a blessing. They need no disguise
Nor a statute of censorship to keep us tame.
They’re released into nature that we may be sure
That all notice God’s handiwork, sacred and pure.
Staring at that butt package is part of the game
And a helpful distraction for those who are wise.

A Box by Any Other Juke


Is there need for refinement of relevant speech
When it comes to discerning the way of the dance?
Often people are juking when there is no tune.
They may pop and go weasel from midnight ‘til noon.
It’s not done during daytime. There would be the chance
That the yellow box has not much in it to teach.

Yet it need not be yellow like some submarine.
Give it any fun color, one vibrant and bright.
All the music inside it is plug nickel free.
Who would argue that it’s not the way it should be?
Take your shoes off and park them for juke bug delight.
Don’t expect the expected and already seen.

We are out on the town on a big ballroom floor.
Some of us are quite clumsy. Some dance very well.
While the music is playing, we all do our best
Or at least suffer through it in well-tempered jest.
If I trip on the dance floor, just ring a loud bell
So that all will take notice and ask me for more.

A Festival of Appreciation


For the sheer joy abounding throughout all the earth,
(There’s a lot more of it than of anything not.)
There is reason to celebrate and carry on
In a spirit of caring. We rely upon
Each and everyone of us to earn what is sought.
Though we’re not in the sixties, it’s time for rebirth.

Clear desire, no resistance… connection is made
To the source that is in us all wanting to live
And to love at full throttle, unfettered and wild
In the way that is merriest as with the child.
Deep inside us all, there is volition to give
Towards the health of the planet. Can this be delayed?

It need not be elaborate… even world wide
In the sense that it’s organized down to detail.
We can party in private with family and friends.
Will it spread epidemically? That all depends.
When we celebrate more, then good tidings prevail
So that current events can be taken in stride.

Holy Trinity


An aquatic triangle, nearby and revered
As the Godhead, confounding and hard to know well,
Is my faith such a mystery for me to know
For the purpose of being persuaded to go
By the way of the masses who cannot rebel?
It is said that divine wrath should ever be feared.

Deity equilateral isn’t by choice,
Nor is it by the fate of chance cast by the breeze.
It’s a God well-constructed and fashioned to be
Both a philosophic and discrete remedy
For the disease of living life as one may please.
So, wherein are we given reason to rejoice?

It is in Holy Trinity that I may be
All the am that I am as my father is now…
And the spirit among us is certainly real.
I can know what is true by the way that I feel.
To engage daily living requires no vow
Nor the risk I could ever be sent back to sea.

True Satisfaction


We enjoy co-creating. One reason we’re here
Is to mingle with others and make life a dream.
We are certain our lives here are meant to feel good.
It’s amazing most people don’t know this and should.
We have but to feel satisfied and not extreme
About making dreams happen, lest they disappear.

Being more and more satisfied in being more
Is the way that we tweak and mold as we create.
We create with much pleasure if we so decide.
Nothing can separate us, not even our pride.
When in true satisfaction we feel that it’s fate,
We embrace not the will nor the time to keep score.

Find oneself in reception, then one will find peace.
Not a thing on earth matters if we’re satisfied.
When it’s good, it gets better. When bad, it’s a gift
From the cosmos reminding us we need to shift.
Happily ever after cannot be denied
To true heart’s satisfaction. One’s faith will increase.

A Most Ignorant Clam


Don’t you know who I am? I’m the ignorant clam.
I’m the one who goes pigshit to offer his love.
There’s a blindness in kindness, a blissfulness too.
I’m attractive, I know, because I’m a good screw.
I may sink to your level. You’ll rise not above
Your most well practiced habit to not give a damn.

Yours is alien speech to me. Mine is to you.
If we all talk in circles we get to no point.
If I try to build for you, then you tear it down
As if made by a jackass, why wouldn’t I frown.
I’d have given up then, as there’s naught to anoint,
Yet, I confound my error with much more to do.

My fine work is a treasure – or was, I should say.
Too much time, sweat and intent went into the prize
Before it was allowed to completion in grace.
It seems beasts that I deal with have spit in my face.
Yet another life lesson… I thought I was wise.
Yet, the older I get, I get dumber by day.

Routine Colon


Just a plain routine colon is who we have here
And grossly unremarkable, to say the least.
We’ve no polyps to probe nor no fissures to fuse.
I am sure that the patient will find that good news.
But to we, he’s a healthy unfettered young beast,
When our job is to learn to make stuff disappear.

This benign seeming waste tube has nothing to teach.
It’s just too frigging faultless. The textbooks, in awe,
Would accept this wholeheartedly and with delight.
As my students you will study stuff that ain’t right.
Within any perfection, we’ll learn to find flaw.
Then we’ll bombard the patient with intricate speech.

If you know one who has one that’s kicking his ass,
Do a full workup on him, then send his ass here.
If he’s got something nasty, we’ll make sure you know
And throughout the semester, our knowledge will grow.
We maintain that good medicine is based in fear.
We’ll instill that in you through the tests you must pass.

Let He Who Is with Faith Cast the Next Sin


Blast you bad baby butchers! You will burn in Hell!
And as God as my witness I pray it to be.
God designed women’s bodies just as he did land.
Everything that’s worthwhile comes about by man’s hand.
And if man says the bodies of women aren’t free
Then its gospel. There’s no place for reason to dwell.

You were made to make babies. The bible says so.
Fertile land can’t take cover. It takes what it gets.
If it gets stomped and spat upon, that’s no one’s bad.
Lowly soil can well take it and learn to be sad.
Jesus Christ was no woman. You have no regrets
That would come to outdo his. This too you should know.

Many Christians are righteous in will to spew blame
Like selective airborne fodder trapped in the throat.
If it’s hocked out in violence, there’s some hell to pay.
Like hypocrisy, it should be washed clean away.
Latent violent tendencies too often denote
Something deeper afoot that no goodness can name.

Harvest Humans


Toward a shortage of mother meat blindly we trek
With respect for the science. Reliance upon
Quantum leaping achievements to solve world crises
May result in our being grown and picked from trees.
Of the pungent most processes e’er to see dawn
Is soil spermatization to see what the heck.

If Subgeo Infiltro Zygotization
Comes before we are ready, it may come to pass
That we’ll treat one another much worse than our fruit.
One might juice his poor brother or chop off his root,
Though it’s no longer needed for tapping that ass.
Men may masturbate into the grass in sheer fun.

They’ve been freezing the eggs. And for what? A new day
In some post Armageddon where life is laid waste?
Maybe that’s an idea that does make some sense
Since, apparently, no major growth will commence
As our mores remain so unwomanly based.
What we think can make fertile much of what we say.

Get Some Taurus In Uranus


There’s an anus in Taurus. Just whose would it be
As Uranus encircles our sun on its path?
For the next seven years we’ll have earth on our minds,
In our hearts, through our veins and in news of all kinds.
We may see the bull tear down and release its wrath.
Could Uranus detain us? No fool would agree.

It is here to surprise us. Uranus, at best,
Introduces keen insight with radical change.
And through Taurus it could mean concern for the land.
We are not the earth’s owners. This we’ll understand.
We’ll become more collective and welcome the strange.
Rights for humans and beasts shall be fully expressed.

Land and money and resources, water as well,
Will see vast innovation creatively so.
We’ll remain well in touch. Electronics will thrive.
We’ll know sustainability keeps us alive.
That the earth is a china shop people should know.
We could trigger demise like a bull out of hell.

Psychotoxic Horrendosol


Toxic radiation comes in many a form.
Our economy ensures that we get the best.
We get most from devices and some from our friends.
Were we not to get any, the detox would cleanse
The sick psyche. It seems though that we are obsessed
With excitement and drama. This is an old norm.

Psychotoxic Horrendosol is used a lot.
It has properties fully resistant to change.
When it’s mixed well with meaning, it makes life stand still.
People’s programmed behaviors then become the will
Of the toxin producers. Is this sounding strange?
Then perhaps I’m affected when I had thought not.

Take that UHDTV and seal it in lead.
Ship it off to Siberia. Then breathe a sigh.
Your toxicity levels will decrease in turn.
You will have less concern and be eager to learn.
If content is addictive, then boredom is why.
That is why I’m a poet. What more can be said?

No One’s Bible Is Libel


Don’t ask me to read scripture. I’d keep a straight face
Out of programmed politeness, but way before long
I would burst out in laughter, and that would be bad –
Not for me but for others who’d thought I had had
Quite enough drummed into me with upbringing strong.
I am doomed to find humor in most any place.

It’s the way people talked then that tickles me so.
They would think ours is funny, that is, I would hope
That our difference in time and space is a clue
To how vastly divergent we must be in view.
We will hang ourselves righteously with enough rope
Fed to us through a dark hole from so long ago.

It’s a humorous story. Don’t take thou my land…
I shall smite thee my wrath… Woe betide thee this day!

Lord, I know it ain’t Shakespeare, but give me a break!
At least half a page turner would keep me awake.
As I’m laughing my ass off, do know it’s my way.
I mean no disrespect. I hope all understand.

Ichabodra, The Crane Unattainted


It’s a shame Ichabodra does not rhyme with stork.
Otherwise, she’d be easy, like Sunday at dawn.
She’s unshown to us, though, and that is by design.
One who would write about her would have to define
A worse person than Ichabod. Could such be spawned?
Ichabodra is thickened like tough salted pork.

Every human vice known, Ichabod knows it well.
But his counterpart gender-wise cares not the least.
She’s a figment of my mind, so she is benign.
Nowhere near Sleepy Hollow would she find divine.
Rings of sausage to her is no sensible feast.
And her temperament, at worst, is nothing to quell.

She’s escaped from calamitous scapegoatish prose
Represented as satire of concurrent style.
Ichabodra deserves not a page in a book
That is of the same title. That Crane has a hook
Well intended to keep women down for a while.
I can find Ichabodra wherever she goes.

Parts Is Parts


Parts Is Parts and can sometimes be born of the arts.
They’re the roles that the actors take when they have work.
Many parts are well played by performers of class.
When they come to be known, much moolah they amass.
Wealth and fame are but two; they earn many a perk.
When they’re good, they evoke feelings deep in our hearts.

Many wholes made of parts are aware that they are,
Like soul mates through eternity locked in embrace.
All the parts of all wholes have a consciousness too,
In acknowledgement that there is much work to do
To maintain healthy functioning by our own grace.
We have taken a leap. Have we reached all that far?

What is different is integral to the whole.
Where integrity differs, the function evolves.
Every part of a function works best with the rest.
There’s no sense in determining which part is best.
Parts Is Parts is a puzzle that no human solves.
Our survival in partnership may be our goal.

The Standard Not Cased


The Standard Not Cased – A professional term,
Somewhat militaristic sounding to lay ears.
We all know what is standard. We’ve learned it from birth.
Our dominion is sacred and good for the earth.
We are Monarch! That’s how it most surely appears.
Why is it that our fine standard makes others squirm?

Ours is red, white and blue. Others… blue, white and red.
There’s a handful of colors each nation may use.
We can’t run out of colors. They can’t go away.
We hijack them to standardize what we must say.
We do give up our freedoms as we dare to choose
Metamorphosis raging at full steam ahead.

So, the Standard Not Cased are the colors unfurled
And released from protection from weather and wear.
I salute them, in general. Orders I take
From my inner self only. Why live not awake?
Today’s sentry is willing to notice and care
That our standard may not be the best in the world.

Barcode Overload


It’s too much information – that naked barcode.
It behaves like the butt crack. To me it looks gross.
Everything on earth has one – perhaps the moon too.
And like assholes, opinions and bad humor (eew!),
That machine-crafted zebra mark is bellicose
In a manner that messes with me when it’s showed.

Everywhere I will see them, like peeping Tom’s eyes.
Hanging out at the corners of labels they hide
Unassuming to most. But they give me the creeps.
They may thrive on immodesty, but not for keeps.
I do cover them forthwith with paint well applied.
I just don’t like to scan them. To me it’s unwise.

Is the growth of the barcode because of the growth
Of our species-specific domain, as it were?
We are plenty in number and things that we do.
We need means to keep track of all that we accrue.
Though they’re God awful nasty and too oft’ occur,
They’re a sight for the digital dimwit or both.

Abuse of the Mirror


We have nary the need for a mirror task force
Nor police to keep all mirrors safe from abuse.
When the flat shiny surface encounters a face
That may cause it to vomit pea soup everyplace,
It will mimic that faithfully without excuse.
Either beauty or ugliness it will endorse.

If I frown at the mirror, it will not smile back.
The least strict of realities would not allow
What I put out to come back as other than me.
Both a thing and its image, indeed, must agree.
Past and future are not seen. I only see now.
If I see not the present, I see only lack.

I am made of the mirror, as it is of me.
Particles of existence are common to all,
And are conscious, responding to those of their kind.
Not a single one ever has been mis-assigned.
There’s no sense of illusion within the eyeball.
My self-image, it would seem, is who I must be.

Feeling Satisfied in The Thought


I have been meditating, in fact, quite a lot.
Now that I’ve got the hang of it, what is it worth?
I get signs I don’t follow. Where is my belief?
With my best persevering, why do I find grief?
Meditation may start with the moment of birth.
Could I nestle each segment in fragrance of thought?

Am I looking for trust or belief in the path?
Or can I just be happy as thought takes on form?
Would my thinking too much about finding my way
Then preclude my advancing? Not likely, I pray.
The path yields me not always the grandest brainstorm
Nor serenity born of the kind aftermath.

Satisfaction this moment is all that I need.
Not a proof, nor belief or a hint of a clue
Is of import this moment. I’ll just breath a sigh.
My, how good that one felt. I do love flying high.
To delight in this moment is all I need do.
Feeling satisfied in the thought is feeling freed.

Every Princess’s Dream


What do little girls dream of? Why would a man care?
Were not women once little with bigness of heart
And with hopes made of magic, fulfilling delights?
What suspense all-consuming awakes her at nights?
If I knew every answer, would that make me smart?
I would be but her subject. I’m quite happy there.

We are caught up in pageantry. That’s just my take.
I would wonder what legacy should be passed on.
Little girls all have beauty and talent and grace.
We exalt competition. We make babies face
Early on a malignant dependence upon
Other people’s approval. And much of it’s fake.

Every Princess’s Dream is to know she is love
Of the purest variety e’er to be known.
She would dream that all grownups would know this as well.
Every little girl’s magic will cast a love spell.
We have lived out our lives. We should leave theirs alone.
Every little girl’s dream is a gift from above.

Adult Onset Nativity


Were I born yesterday, things would make much more sense.
As it is, I arrived here before my own time.
In the meantime I’m given some room to explore
This life chamber around me that I should adore.
Is it wrong that I’m learning stuff way past my prime
As my time to be born consumes me with suspense?

In some ways, I’m brand new here. With each rising sun,
I’m essentially nuanced to wipe a clean slate
In the morning before any drama begins.
It is nobody’s business who died for my sins.
If I dropped dead this moment, who’d care if it’s fate?
If there’s needed a young heart, might I be the one?

 Neither exit nor entry certificate states
Where I fall short of worthiness and due respect.
Hopefully, an old bundle delivered anew
Can provide entertainment, if but for a few.
I would not discontinue this due to neglect.
Both the mother and baby have intertwined fates.

Father Tony


We know Father Tony Transubstancioni
Just like we know well what it’s like to be locked
On a wild roller coaster through theology.
We are young enough still that we’re able to see
Human nature’s innate tendency to concoct
Ways of selling salvation as if it weren’t free.

Now, some say that it’s not free. Someone paid a price.
Well, that’s good looking out. We’d have done quite the same.
So, what’s up with the guilt trip? We did nothing wrong.
We are new to your choir yet still sing your old song.
Has engaging with spirit become a board game
Wherein one can win only by great sacrifice?

With concern, Father Tony, do hear our advice
Given you who love torment as if it were sex.
Many acts are unholy. Please keep that in mind.
We would love to work with you, but first we must find
An environment safe enough in all respects.
What one learns from delusion is not worth the price.

How Does Dog Become Scapegoat?


Did your son kick the dog today? That isn’t cool.
It is wrong to hurt animals… or anyone.
But how does a good parent then deal with a child
Who may fear that he may be severely reviled
For an act that, at some point, all creatures have done.
It’s not easy to live by today’s golden rule.

If in fact he is spoken to, what does one say?
“You should not do that naughty thing…” as with the beast?
Put them both in the doghouse. They make a fine pair.
When the kids in the neighborhood come by to stare,
They will not think of hurting their dogs in the least.
If one took not an action, what would that convey?

Kids are low on the food chain in family affairs.
What they say isn’t listened to. Then they get pissed.
One consumed in frustration will not kick his dad,
But he’ll sure kick that dog around when he gets mad.
When the dog is gone, he knows that it won’t be missed.
When the dog becomes scapegoat, that means no one cares.

A Borderline Penance


As I wax purgatorious thinking I’m right
When my brain functions backwards in so many ways,
Do I make any progress toward reaching my goals?
Why my character takes on so many damned roles
Is a question I’ll ponder the rest of my days.
Nothing of the ethereal is the dark night.

I exist in my own world. I think we all do.
We concern ourselves only with things that we love
Among our inner circles… if we are so blessed.
What I may find of interest is not to the rest.
If my ego feels like it’s been given a shove,
Should I take solace in the fact I have one too?

I would like to be human when I think I’m not,
Yet I know I would have to be one of the whole
Of nature’s fine experiment: creatures who may
Understand with illusion much of what they say.
It takes courage to live well within my own soul
And to know not, nor care that I may be forgot.

Owe Me One, Then Owe Me


I could be Rumpelstiltskin or Pudding and Tang,
Yet a friend of Luke Flightjacket is who I am.
Way too many sci-fi flicks have taken the turn
Toward placating sensation with much crash and burn.
So whenever you find yourself in a big jam,
Just owe me one, then owe me, son. This isn’t slang.

Some would say I’m a Jedi because I kick ass
In the mystical lucid land on the wide screen.
There are dark evil forces in your world as well.
They take over your content and cast a deep spell.
Do I slice through your rubbish or make things seem clean?
If I do that, then my character isn’t crass.

And for this, you don’t owe me. Do know me to be
At my best with my light saber held tight in hand,
Strong and ready to offer diversion from hate.
With some imagination, we may gravitate
Toward the friendlier force, perhaps as had been planned.
If you know me, then owe me your living carefree.

Why Do I Cry?


In its essence, it’s innocence of the unknown
And the known joining seamlessly nestled in love.
I sometimes know why I cry, as most people do.
We all tend to feel deeply. We are creatures who,
When consumed in sheer happiness, wouldn’t think of
Somehow keeping it hidden, or else barely shown.

I grow older, and as I do, sometimes I find
There’s a mix in my energy that I can feel.
If I stop to take notice of my heart’s desire,
I may find that there’s nothing that I need acquire.
In that moment of knowing, I cannot conceal
Where the new thought has taken me as I’m aligned.

My desire is a yearning for that which is known
To be ideal implicitly for one and all.
We all come here from kindness and pure loving light.
We all know how to make love and frolic despite
Any emergent issue we’d deem falderal.
As I get used to crying, my spirit has grown.

The Comfort in Fear


I am going through major transitions right now.
That may seem rather obvious by my lifestyle.
I believe staying high is the best way to die
While I’m writhing away under fun colored sky.
I’m no kin to the present. I feel, though, erstwhile
To the fear of my failing. That I can’t allow.

When I feel fear, it means that my thinking is wrong.
Someone else who knows me has a much different take.
When we both think the same, then my living is fine.
When I’m fearful and he’s not, that is a sure sign
That I’ve made something up that has caused me heartbreak.
He is my higher self who knows where I belong.

There’s a comfort in fear that I know must be true
By the wisdom it stirs within my yearning heart.
When I find I’m afraid of the dawn’s early light.
I must know that’s not real and thus cannot be right.
There’s no world I can think of that’s falling apart.
All that which I had feared can be looked at anew.

It’s A Trip


“It’s a Trip what be happ’nin’ dare ‘round dat white house.”
Did I get that vernacular right? I must know,

Not for any known reason – just out of the blue,
Like what happens in government, vacant of clue.
You behave much like ‘niggers.’ Is that just for show?
There is no one’s attention to duty to rouse.

I’ve watched candidates stumble as if by design
Through omnipotent forces unidentified.
There exists biased judgement in each human’s heart.
It seems you take to tripping to better jumpstart
This cold government engine. Perhaps you’ve not tried
Something else therefore it seems unwise to decline.

We each do our own tripping – both on and offline,
And through manifold systems we lay down our traps.
Anyone not suspecting some lead boot will drop
May avoid such an outcome and end up on top.
What is built upon, though, may be sure to collapse.
When I don’t pay attention, I’m doing just fine.

Swamp Refugee


How’s that swamp draining job going? Have you begun?
Or is someone appointed to do that for you?
One who says that it’s nasty there maybe would know.
You did say you belonged there some nightmare ago.
It’s ironic you went in there smelling like poo.
Now the task is too dirty? It’s no longer fun?

There’s a refugee crisis since office was took
Like a thief in the dark water. Bully for you!
Who is doing the cleaning? Just where is this mess?
I don’t think that it’s you, ass. You may well confess
To yourself that you’re finished. You could have made due
Out of office as just an old worldly wide crook.

As the myriad creatures emerge from the swamp,
One by one, soaking wet with shame for egg on face,
Is the swamp being cleaned by a man or a goon?
I think I know the answer. We all shall know soon.
There’s a deep, thorough cleaning indeed taking place.
When it’s finally done with, the worthy will romp.

Stop Pretending


You don’t think I’m pretending to hear things you don’t,
So why not then believe there’s a world you can’t know?
I may bark at what seems to you only thin air.
You would not contradict and say nothing is there.
I can sense there is something, though nothing to show.
I can smell things that you can’t and probably won’t.

Other worlds intersect ours. Some creatures receive
And transmit most effectively with other realms,
And within this one many vibrations reside
Well outside your perception. Indeed, you’re denied.
It’s the heart that denies this that this overwhelms.
Learn to trust in this knowing, then you will believe.

Stop pretending that I’m the one pretending, please.
There’s no crown of creation. We’re all of the stream
Of eternal life force ever changing in form.
It’s OK to be human if that is your norm.
But remember that sometimes things are as they seem.
What may seem to be unseen the wiser one sees.

Feeling Happy on The Way


I may pray tell this joke with a straight enough face.
The young guru on skate board with smartphone in hand
Knows a lot more than I do and zips right on by.
Everything is in order. Would I dare to try
To compare myself to others who understand
Only where they are going… perhaps the same place?

Can I be fully satisfied watching my dreams
Take on form incrementally as they evolve?
If I can love the journey while not at its end,
Every moment toward getting there need not depend
On some well devised plan for a problem to solve.
Destination and journey are not two extremes.

Happily Ever After begins with right now,
And in rapid succession each now takes a new
Form of manifestation through brilliant insight.
There is joy in my getting there, and that’s alright.
I cannot face reality and make it do
As I wish. That’s the old way. I’ll learn to allow.

Creating Despite Oneself


I’ll create some calamity throughout my act.
This is par for one’s strutting upon the life stage.
Some things come unexpectedly as if by chance.
If I’m not good at magic, could I sing and dance?
I’m an actor who sometimes performs out of rage
When through my misalignment I run low on tact.

I continue creating despite my stage fright.
The anxiety strengthens and quickens the heart.
There’s no fear of an audience. All play a role.
We are scripted observers with one common goal.
We can make co-creating an elegant art
As we play under pressure beneath the spotlight.

I should know what my magic hat may well contain
If I would be professional and of good taste.
Even if I react in convincing surprise,
I may just know my lines well without a disguise.
My bad acting has karma that can’t be erased.
I can clean up my act, though, for maximum gain.

Crow Whisperer Training


Listen Up, human rookies! This isn’t boot camp,
Nor is it rocket science. I’m nothing like that.
This is all about noticing what all birds do –
Not just good looking black ones among but a few.
We deliver insight at the drop of a hat.
We can offer a clue when your spirit is damp.

I may look straight up sober and matter of fact.
That is just a façade to get closer to you…
Not too close, though, that you might suspect something’s up.
We know something of fear because of the sick pup.
We are here to remind you of what you once knew.
In your knowing, then, all the best you will attract.

Learn a bit from the wise ones, but much more from we
Who, in touch with the spirit realm, deliver to
Those receptive enough, messages from the dead,
So that you may not look at death with so much dread.
Whether you can receive us is all up to you.
Live your lives well and prosper, but mostly be free.

Quiet the Mind and Receive


Words evolve into traffic, then don’t convey much.
They are not the best teachers because of their traps.
They routinely ensnare us and leave us confused,
Yet, without our content, we feel further abused.
A brief timeout will reset my tuner, perhaps.
Words can mimic advice, but they’re often a crutch.

When I offer vibration, I get something back.
What that is depends wholly on what I put out.
If I quiet the mind before starting my day,
Then my words do have meaning – to me, anyway.
So that I may receive well, I’m better, no doubt,
To unplug from all that I would call soul attack.

When I silence the chatter, I better receive.
To get in the receptive mode, all that I do
Is to fixate on some gentle noise in the room.
If my focus should falter, I simply resume
Until I feel detachment, and blissfulness too.
Then the more I receive, I can surely believe.

The Most Important Question to Ask


Life is jam-packed with questions – both big ones and small,
From the stuff between atoms to deep outer space.
We are curious creatures – some more and some less.
Certainly I have questions, and I must confess
I would not see the answers in front of my face,
Yet there’s one simple question that stands rather tall.

“Is this universe friendly?” If I think it’s not,
Then a life marked by defense and putting up walls,
And fixations on weaponry would be my style.
If I think it is friendly, I greet with a smile.
Life becomes, then, fulfilling and truly enthralls.
I could mitigate hatred and give love a shot.

Many simply profound questions Einstein did ask.
This one is most important. In it we decide
If we’re feeding our fears of the unknown with doubt,
Or if we choose to learn what this life is about.
How I answer this question is my only guide.
Then my own friendliness can be kept well on task.

An Evolution of Perspective


I can see much more clearly when I’m flying high,
Looking down at where here and now happens to be.
I can wave at ourselves from the wide-open sky.
From my alter perspective, no troubles have I.
A new world of adventure is given to me.
With my wings of alignment, I need no ally.

Here and now is a nice view when wings are at rest.
Down here can be obstructive of a better view.
Structures that we call obstacles get in our way.
If we can’t see around them they screw up our day.
My intent upon flying is past overdue.
And it’s bright up here. My Goodness! Who would have guessed?

I just want to be happy. We all want the same.
Any life situation is one point in time.
From that point I can zoom out as far as I need
To see where in the big picture I may succeed.
I need not even find some tall mountain to climb.
From the broader perspective life seems rather tame.

Remote Access


Don’t make fun of my accent. I’ve practiced it well.
Either that or my English still gives me away.
Anyway, I will help you. Your system is screwed.
I’ll access your computer and then I’ll get rude.
I’ll have problems to show you and too much to say
While concealing the fact that this is a hard sell.

 This is like the old shell game with quick sleight of hand,
Only I open windows and spread them around
While explaining how sick your machine has become
In this short while I’m with you, you simpleton bum.
I will find every bad thing there is to be found
Then create a few more. This is what I had planned.

Just sit back and relax while I fill up your screen
With my scribbles and doodles and fancy artwork.
You won’t owe me a fortune. Just half one will do
To restore your computer to something like new.
What I tell you is true. I’m a desperate jerk.
If I knew any better, I’d surely come clean.

I Don’t Need A Damned Hero


I don’t need a damned hero. Please give back my face.
And… my name is not Robin. I’m no kin to you.
I did quite well without you before you arrived.
Things now aren’t any better, yet I’m not deprived
Of my sense of humanity. If I but knew
How to ditch you completely, I’d reclaim my grace.

Something tucked in my pocket may act as my friend
As long as it behaves well and gives me respect.
It will act like a smartass and make me look lame,
When, to others, the thing is a fanciful game.
This is not about something that I need protect.
I’m the one in its shadow with thought to portend.

It’s a hero. Big Whoopie! It does a great deal
For most assholes convinced It’s a survival tool.
But for me, it’s a smartass. We don’t get along.
Every time I do something with it, I am wrong.
That’s according to it, therefore ‘it’ is a fool.
This hero doesn’t save me. That’s just how I feel.

Stop Noticing The Absence


I establish my lists and may check them with dread.
Rarely I feel like Santa as always I should.
How unbalanced my balance sheet is reflects how
Misaligned with my purpose I seem to be now.
How I find myself lacking is not understood.
I would rather look elsewhere than torture my head.

I must know there is absence. This makes common sense.
It would be very foolish to ignore the facts.
Thankfully, I don’t linger there for very long.
I’ll head toward the solution by way of a song.
When presented with absence, the wise one reacts
In ways most beneficial for mending that fence.

Right now is but a snapshot arrested in time.
It does not have an impact on moments to come
Unless I keep now active and feed it my gloom.
When receptive to insight there’s plenty of room
In the now for my outlook to beat like a drum.
From absence to abundance is not a steep climb.

It Gets Busy On Tuesdays


It does get rather busy most Tuesdays for me.
I catch up on relaxing while doing my best
At observing my habitat most of the day.
Yet on Tuesdays I’m busy with still much to say.
I will say it but at my own spirit’s behest.
There’s no need for alarm. There is no urgency.

I’ll spend time with my fellows. I’ll eat a good meal.
Then kick back into slow mode. That much will suffice.
Ecstasy is my basking. I long not to be
Someone else’s fulfillment… eventually.
I’m laid back and I’m mellow, therefore I am nice.
What takes place in my jungle is not a big deal.

I did quite well today. Did I get a lot done
With today’s interactions? I feel satisfied
Even though there’s a deadline some would call midnight.
I need not create frantically. That’s just not right.
This is easy by now. Time has taken my side.
What has worked for the many does work for the one.

Words Don’t Matter Much


Many words are not needed to labor my point
When the point is to unleash the artist in me.
Words do have some meaning… too much, as it seems,
And sometimes they mislead. They’ll engender extremes
Of misinterpretation inadvertently.
Yet, at times, they’re a blessing with which to anoint.

Verboseness speaks of labor when untethered to
The intent that derives it, no matter how much
Meaning is well packed into it. How can I tell
If my aerosol speaking can cast a nice spell?
That is simple! My speech must be fun to the touch.
If I spoke plain and simple, would that do for you?

On the walls of our journeys, we tag with our hearts
The intenseness of color held tight in our souls.
With some pressure released, with expression of thought,
We may sigh in accomplishment and want for naught.
Many words, some do use, to accomplish their goals,
But the meaning behind them is where it all starts.

The Value Of Contrast


Monochrome is the cosmos of darkness and light
Wherein we find discernment in what we perceive.
If it were not for contrast, then it would be hard
To make out what to work with and what to discard.
We take stock in perceptions. That’s how we believe
And make judgements about what is wrong and what’s right.

We appreciate color where it may be found
In abundance or scarceness concealed in the seam
Of the over stretched canvass. There color hides well
When there’s no need to see it nor anyone tell.
Life plays out in the mind, though, in vibrant extreme.
We delight in creative expression unbound.

Contrast does lead through chaos, but to clarity.
So it matters profoundly. It leads me to more
Of what life has to offer. I need only see
That my challenges are of much value to me.
There’s no problem that I should not love and adore.
Each, if wise, is a service – one offered for free.



There may be a resemblance, but only in jest.
We should not take to joking, yet that’s what we do
With sung heroes of wealth among young and alive
Who appear in good health and have prolific drive.
But this man is NOT ‘Data,’ the character who,
As an officer, turns out to be of the best.

I believe he is human and brilliant of mind,
With a knack for precision and logical view
Of what people hold precious. Could something be flawed?
Has our Data been beamed to some dark force abroad?
What should be know by all is known but by a few.
The ‘real’ Data knows Duty and is truth aligned.

“Senator, I will have my team get back to you.”
Well, that sounds good in theory, born of the abstract.

Put your ‘team’ on the floor if they have answers, please.
Your dorm room is now worldwide. A future that sees
You as more like our Data, is one based in fact.
You could show some emotion, as most androids do.

Wanting Something Badly


If I want something badly – too badly to know
That the ‘badly’ will dominate over the want,
I may get what I want but with badly involved,
Or receive not a thing, then no thing is resolved.
In the spirit of joy I am willing to taunt
The prefect of good fortune and master of flow.

If I wish upon good stars or bad stars, who knows
How the cosmos is biased? Is that in my chart
Of the sky at the time I was born? How could I
Overcome what is destined? Should I even try?
Every good thought unravels the will of my heart.
I receive of the universe what it bestows.

So, to want something goodly would be quite the way
To at least be receptive to what I have drawn
From the bountiful infinite. I can do that
By not being so needy. The proper format
For a life of fortune is to rely upon
One’s own wealth of alignment beginning each day.

I Came As A Creator


I am one with the canvas and paint that I use,
As with palette and brush, and my own unique style.
I intended to be here to do what I do.
I believe that the universe helps me with who
I’m creating. That’s Me! And I’m here for a while.
Since I am a creator, I’ve nothing to lose.

The whole world is vibrational? That’s hard to sense
On the onset. Things seem to be solid and ‘real.’
It is fact: What is unseen becomes what is seen.
This is true, most of all, with the cosmic machine.
I can know what is real by the way that I feel
All ethereal things and all things that are dense.

I am born of vibration. My senses detect
Things like texture and color. I sometimes pretend
That what cannot be seen surely cannot exist.
Though I harbor scant truth there, the bulk is dismissed.
I am here to create what is real, and I spend
Most my moments creating – much out of respect.

No Assertion, Just Attraction


There’s a spell in the air. Surely I put it there.
It’s my life force exuding throughout the cosmos,
Calling all things to me, be it bird or it bee.
I’ve no need for assertion, as all can agree.
I attract what I need. In no way is it gross.
I’m the kind face of nature, most gentle and fair.

I don’t need to keep busy. I delegate all
To those forces whose business it is to take care
Of the details regarding what I need right now.
I remain still and blossom the way I know how.
With my point of attraction, I’m fully aware
Of all drama around me, though fragile and small.

I am in the receptive mode most of the time.
When I’m not, I’m the giver to that which knows me.
Is there much on my mind? There is not such a thing
As the heel that may crush me before I can sing.
Had I eyes that knew color, how proud they would be.
Through the law of attraction, my life is sublime.

Kool-Aid Charade


As the head of the elephant, stuffed on the wall
In the house of it’s owner, the bear in the ice,
Must be well taxidermized to make it look real,
Is it rough to the touch? That should be a big deal.
One who drinks the red Kool-Aid does so at a price.
It will take down the heavyweights and make them small.

It is drunk behind closed doors. Consumption is kept
Well concealed and performed as a drama most grand.
Almost all the king’s horses have elephants’ heads
And a loud trumpet’s bellowing that the heart dreads.
What could be so perverse that we can’t understand?
Can we follow a leader whose heart’s never wept?

There are some dead men walking… and talking these days,
Where throughout the vast jungle, the things that take place
That may cause severe damage to my way of life
May drop free of the spectrum of doom and world strife.
Those who have drunk the Kool-Aid are doomed to embrace
Consequences severe for their treasonous ways.

From the Desk of D. Dudley Dickinworth

TheMagicRealist.com, The Magic Realist, Magic Realism

Sir, we give you the dickens! This time it’s for sure.
Why have not you responded? Where’s your sense of greed?
We have offered you millions. Don’t say you don’t care.
You won’t find a more urgent email anywhere.
You must answer me ASAP so we can proceed
To maintain cockamamie discourse. You Are Poor!

From our records of outstanding contractors due
A large payment, we find that your name does appear.
We now need your full address and bank info too.
We will need up front payment to cover a few
Incidental expenses, like campaigns of fear.
Make that check out to me. I will take care of you.

I don’t want to get nasty, but, damn it to hell,
You have not yet replied to me! Don’t be a fool.
Don’t you know how to act with a dick in your face?
You must give it attention. I know there’s some place
In your heart for some jackass who thinks he is cool.
Once I have your phone number, I’ll call you as well.

Better To Give Than Receive?


Many fowl do their giving while gathered in flight
When they find one deserving of what they possess.
We could learn from the birds and cast fate to the breeze.
The mind makes a fine camera as long as it sees
Something other than chaos and emergent mess.
So, whatever life gives me, I must know it’s right.

I create what befalls me before it takes place.
Through the lens of the mind’s eye, I craft what I get.
If I got up this morning with crap on my mind,
Then neglected to flush it, that wouldn’t be kind
To my outlook. My day would be filled with regret.
I can’t reach good conclusions when stuck in that space.

“It is better to give than receive,” people say.
That depends on one’s outlook. Again, that’s the key
To receiving abundance in whichever form
We attract it. To live life apart from the norm
Is to be truly mindful, most diligently.
I have freedom to give what I don’t want away.

A Wonky Relationship


Things appeal to the wonk (who is happy to plonk
Down his sanity for a mate as strange as he)
That have not much bizarreness when pictured alone.
When they’re seen as a pair, though, their union is shown
To be as odd an odyssey, if such could be.
Can it be held together, or will someone conk?

Every plate has a wobble. Each soul has a plate.
It may be full or empty. Some skill it will take
To ensure that momentum is constant and swift.
When all balance quite well, what a wonderful gift!
We may choose co-creation along with heartbreak,
Yet, to do so without self is such a blind date.

If I find satisfaction within my own skin
And not bother my partner with all that I lack,
Perhaps I’ll come to know the odd one within me.
Once that we are acquainted, my true self will be
My own best source of guidance who will have my back.
Anyone who is strange enough could be my twin.

Too Alone Prone Persona


When alone in a shoebox and weathered by time
And neglect of the home life within the dark soul,
No one comes by to visit. What life could be there
But one filled with delusion and utter despair
For not having attained some significant goal?
At the moment of birth one seems way past one’s prime.

Maybe better with family, a dog and some beer,
There is guidance available to one who seeks
Strong alignment with some cause related to blood.
I salute the self-righteous supremacist flood
Of the fictional family with tongues in their cheeks
That will tell this sick nation that it’s time to cheer.

To propone the persona of flesh on a throne
Does extract from the owner some measure of heart,
And from those of the kingdom, much trust and respect.
There is no sense of honor that I need detect
In the souls of the leaders I choose. A new start
Is something I can’t handle. That’s why I’m alone.