Tag Archive | commentary

Surrender Yourself

TheMagicRealist.com

When one speaks of surrender, what does the word mean?
Passing from limitations of one dimension
To the ones of another… That seems to be fair
In describing the need to be lighter than air.
Giving in to a good thing is most often fun
Otherwise, if it’s stressful, no freedom is seen.

And we do value freedom more than we may know.
We will slither through filth and scale difficult heights
To hold on to what everyone claims as a right.
If we feel we’re restricted, we will get uptight.
Challenge to basic rights is the cause of most fights
So the best thing to do is to go with the flow.

In this physical form there are gates I won’t pass.
But becoming inane in an unbridled way
And in no way conditional is, I may find,
A wisely prescribed method to settle the mind.
When to know to surrender is but mine to say.
Between feeling and knowing, there is no crevasse.

The Shoes People Choose

TheMagicRealist.com

When some people are wealthy they tend to buy shoes.
It’s a faint curiosity as with most things.
But for sole reinforcement it is but a farce –
An insult to the poor one whose wardrobe is sparse.
Incomplete satisfaction self-indulgence brings
To flamboyantly rich ones compelled to abuse.

Our feet must have protection. The soles must be tough
To defend well the tenderness of the bare feet.
Our lives must have fulfillment or else we will feel
That we have not a reason to deal with what’s real.
Nothing beats the reality of sheer conceit
Intertwined with our natures. We can’t get enough.

To master economics and stay in the black
Or to tread life in true work – which path is more wise?
Shoes require some polishing. They’re prone to wear.
If some look at my shoes I don’t need them to stare.
They may speak of my status. They are not a prize.
They get me where I’m going, and I don’t keep track.

Dealing With Insecurity

TheMagicRealist.com

I believe in telepathy though I have mind
To curse others who have it because I do not.
If I’m not good with social cues, why am I here?
Since I am so disabled, should I live in fear?
Hanging tight to my own tree, I’m destined to rot.
Life would be a breeze if human nature were kind.

Am I out of my element? Which would that be?
The same one that we all are suspended within?
Why can’t I see what happens the way that you do?
Are we kids on the playground where I have no clue?
I feel so damned transparent and riddled with sin.
I sequester an anger that may become me.

Is there any way out of this confounded mess
Surely of my creation? I should not forget
That I’m here to experience – not to avoid
But a measure of wonder. All will be destroyed
At some point in existence. I feel not regret.
There is nothing to gain nor lose, therefore why stress?

I’m A Christian

TheMagicRealist.com

Can’t you tell I’m a Christian? I only do right.
With my face bright and holy I edify God.
He and I are best buddies. He gives me his word
Then I act out in ways in which I had preferred
All the while feigning praises as those close applaud.
I’m a Christian, and I know damned well how to fight.

But with who am I fighting? God points out the ones
Who deserve condescension and my holy wrath.
Controlled women, more guns and straight sex is a must
Unless I’m made a preacher immune to distrust.
The direction I choose is always the right path.
I’m a bible technician whose mind has the runs.

What you do is my business, dear brother in Christ.
It’s made clear in the document, therefore repent.
We shall sing halleluiah together Sundays
Then right after revert to the usual craze.
To identify that which can cause ill content
Is a God given talent, and not highly priced.

How To Make Sense Of A Handful Of Wind

TheMagicRealist.com

One with pregnant unseemingly birthed from a tree
No command of a semblance ensnares proper thought
Cast off feelings deterred amid marble in flight
Would be shrouded in wonder if nothing went right
Carried apples with caramel never store bought
Leaves a fine world to marry for just you and me

Right upside the sick poodle can a noodle bite
Like a flea-bitten flood hound defaced and made odd
To the ear that discerns all that has to take place
In a foul fisted hammer enrolled in a race
To the finishing rainbow who’d give not a nod
So selectively sequined soul sturgeons seek sight

Sadly salt savers surely since sugar sanguine
Says that all who may master the muster made mild
One can know that one knows not all that one has known
Throughout eons existing one has not a throne
Where as one sits upon it one must become wild
Even though not long winded the hands are just fine

A Danger To Self Or Others

TheMagicRealist.com

I do not what to be here. I’ll cut to the chase
And the heart of the truth about being alive.
To be made to feel gratitude is servitude
To the aspects of nature that make creatures rude.
So, how come there are apes now? Or did we contrive
Our cosmetic comparisons to praise our race?

We are doomed to the drama. We can’t get along.
Neither pair nor two dozen or whole nations full
Of a vain human species can hope to be kind
To all persons at all times. This serves to remind
Me that life has no meaning and bull has much pull.
Latency becomes blatant with numbness to wrong.

Are we bored? Then let’s argue. It’s all just a game
That we may end up making a fight to the death.
Don’t you dare disrespect me whoever you are.
I don’t like being human. That should leave a scar
On the face of psychosis ‘til its dying breath.
That I’m still here and breathing, I do take the blame.

We are locked in our corners. We each have our views
Of how things must be looked at. This is a good thing.
It will grow to infect us and hasten our will
To engage self-destruction unto nature’s thrill.
If I weren’t feeling dangerous you’d hear me sing
Like a sick sack of suds who has nothing to lose.

Approaching Death With Grace

TheMagicRealist.com

When someone we know dies it’s as if a big piece
Of our own life is suddenly taken away.
Most get through the process of their grieving with grace.
Still there is a deep sorrow that time may erase.
Yet we know this will happen to all life someday.
Every life that we know of will at some time cease.

 Life decides when to leave us. We have not the choice
When it should or it shouldn’t. We will, while alive,
Try our best to sustain it. At birth we inhale
And at death we exhale. Nature’s law does prevail.
From the moment of being we’re here to survive
So the last thing to do here would be to rejoice.

We’re all dying through living in this time and place.
If I stop to examine the life I live now
Can I see death as part of life and be content
In the process of being? I feel we were meant
To embrace our mortality and to allow
Life to spend a brief time here and then leave in grace.

Successful Introvert

TheMagicRealist.com

How dependent on labels our lives have become.
Confusing exhalation with inhalation
In the midst of one’s breathing is how one behaves
When engaging delusion. It only enslaves.
One’s direction is set only by intention
But one must take the journey and celebrate some.

No such thing as an introvert or extrovert
Does exist in reality – only in thought.
Some of us feel the need to stand up and take charge
While some others are not so inclined, by and large.
So they’re not using twitter. Contentment is sought
In their own way of life with no will to assert.

No conclusions are needed to identify
What I see right before me with an open mind
And clear vision of what only I can provide.
In pursuit of the outcome, process is denied.
As I’m focused and engaged, I am more inclined
To be much more successful than fate would imply.

Forest In The Trees

TheMagicRealist.com

There’s an awfully big picture. I’m told this is so.
They do call it a forest. I only see trees.
And each one monolithic is massive and whole.
What is outside the forest I cannot control
Nor all that which is inside. My mind clearly sees
Conflagration of detail with passion to grow.

I can move about freely. I make my own path.
I may meet other travelers and test their ways.
The big picture within the big picture, it seems,
Is the one I’m accustomed to because it teems
With more that I can handle in all of my days
Pondering its beginning and grand aftermath.

Somewhat safe in the forest, I should take some care
That the trees I encounter are worthy or not
Of wholehearted attention. The world then becomes
Not an unfriendly jungle where beating the drums
Of resentment can too often get one’s ass shot.
There are so many pathways that lead to despair.

Hoboken Hobo

TheMagicRealist.com

The Hobo from Hoboken has nowhere to go
Knowing he has no future nor past – only now.
He has time to consider mistakes he has made
While all others just like him are made in the shade.
The man does not feel lazy with sweat on his brow.
And for all his hard work he has nothing to show.

He’s the Hoboken Hobo who’s broken and beat
To the pavement from competition in the race.
Certainly there are others, but he is the one
Who is seldom believed in. No growth has begun
In his long run attempting to keep up the pace
As the corporation aims to crank up the heat.

Perhaps not quite outspoken, the Hoboken man
Is a token identity too often seen
Not on billboards across our divine fruited plains
But in urban streets where disillusion remains.
Is it fair that society is a machine?
Ask the Hoboken Hobo who has not a plan.

Make A Decision You Won’t Regret

TheMagicRealist.com

To identify dreams, goals and aspirations
Is to be a fine citizen worthy of praise.
What I did twenty years ago is not the same
As what I’m doing now. And by that I proclaim
That my dreams may entrap me in manifold ways.
Maybe I should have heeded my wise older ones.

Take a break from distraction and influences
That surround me, and take a long look deep inside
To discover what moves me. This way, I am told,
Is the way to choose rightfully that which is gold.
Quite unlike personality fettered in pride,
My true calling is absent of all weaknesses.

When you make a decision, do so from the heart.
Personality means that persona is fused
To the person. Indeed, I must pry it away.
If I leave it stuck to me all throughout the day
It becomes ineffective and then self-abused.
When it comes to your choosing, let spirit take part.

Wake Me When The Witch Is Dead

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

Operating System Corrupted

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

Whiteface

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

Why Am I Stressed?

TheMagicRealist.com

Do not work, and don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.
You may be under pressure but make no mistake.
I will clothe you and feed you and give you a roof.
One who’d make such a promise is made of disproof.

If my thinking is heavy and clearly opaque
Is there anything worthwhile that I can then do?

Can I sit and be blissful alone in one place
For a brief march of minutes? That should not be hard.
If it is, then it means only one sundry thing.
I have not done what is necessary to bring
Simple mindfulness back into proper regard.
If the masses can’t do that, is that a disgrace?

Like the fragrance of jasmine on life’s summer breeze
I’ve no choice but to linger until lingering
Dissipates in completion of purpose assigned.
What I’m thinking and feeling are so intertwined
That I can’t blame another for what life may bring.
On that basis, can I put my stressing at ease?

Head Or Heart

TheMagicRealist.com

Head and heart are two totally separate things.
What is seen on the surface also is within.
We alone complicate things. The creatures of wild
See all life as one simple thing – much like a child,
But with intent well focused. I’ll dare to begin
A statement of inquiry as if it has wings.

Can the heart speak of anything? I would think not.
It just wants to keep blood flowing. That is its job.
It need not be articulate – only steadfast
That its date with my breathing will not be its last.
Now, there are quite a few things that make the heart throb.
People could say it’s speaking then. I’d say they ought.

The heart has only two sounds: Dub-Lub and Dub-Lub.
Only on rare occasion does it verbalize

In an aberrant manner. But, unlike the brain,
Nothing can happen to it to drive it insane.
If I came to believe that the heart can be wise
Would that mean I’d be giving my poor brain the snub?

Meditation is not interrupted by thought.
I would not ask the kidneys nor liver to cease
Their sustaining their function as peace do I seek.
It’s refreshing to learn that all organs do speak
In the language they’re used to. The mindful release
Of the unwanted chatter is then what is sought.

Wisdom, Meditation And Bliss

TheMagicRealist.com

Mysticism means exploration into things
That I have not the knowledge of – so far, so good.
Everything that I know not, I can’t understand.
If I find one with wisdom and peacefulness grand,
Is that person anointed with true guruhood?
Is what I know that others don’t worthy of wings?

If I lost all my assets and felt quite depressed
My mind would try to trick me into true demise.
But if I held my breath for two minutes, I’m sure
That abundantly free air would act as the cure
For my habit of teetering on compromise
Of my spirit. Sometimes, it’s adversely expressed.

 The most sophisticated machinery here,
The unique human body is of pure design.
Yet it can be encumbered with high maintenance.
That appears true for most folks and seems to make sense.
Living totally means that there is no deadline
When it comes to engaging all that we hold dear.

Put Your Bitch On The Street!

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

Mow The Grass, Tyson!

TheMagicRealist.com

Oh, go Mow The Grass, Tyson! Please shut your machine.
No one else is as smart as you. We all get that.
Your profound observations and statement of facts
Are akin to how one with an attitude acts.
If Einstein were alive now you’d get tit for tat!
You may not be the smartest one this world has seen.

You don’t have to wear black so much. We see that too.
Perhaps done quite unconsciously, there’s no mistake
That there’s pride in your presence. The smug in your smirk
Is a testament to your most outstanding work.
But when you are on camera, please give us a break.
Few can understand most things the way that you do.

Mow our minds, Mr. Tyson. We all need a trim.
Some intellectual aristocracy can,
In the course of a short while, enlighten the heart.
The bright mind and warm spirit are not far apart
In the person of this brilliant jerk of a man.
After ten minutes of him, I’m filled to the brim.

Compassion And Virtue

TheMagicRealist.com

When I do not identify with anything,
Then in absolute virtue my living will be.
I am filled with compassion for all that exists…
Even those who, in blindness, are flailing their fists.
Only when not identifying can I see
What I may have to offer. What peace may I bring?

People are sympathetic to some noble cause.
But in being so biased, compassion declines
For all else not identified with what we love.
Therein lies some resentment. Can we get rid of
Unbecoming behavior? The heart undermines
The intent to think clearly from adequate pause.

When compassion encompasses every last one
On this planet or wherever consciousness plays
Throughout space-time and being, will we have done well?
Within every infinity chaos must dwell.
So, it does well behoove us to measure our days
As if all of creation had never begun.

Gratitude Is Not Attitude

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s an intricate fabric of which I’m a thread.
There is always a place where I’m part of the fold.
Neither feelings of loneliness nor perceived guilt
Can convene to antagonize what has been built
Over eons. My true heart cannot be controlled
By illusions of misfortune that lie ahead.

As life happens around me, the thing I see most
Is how much is involved in the moment at hand.
Every bite that I take… many did make it so
Through the chain of production, as most people know.
What goes into each moment, then, is rather grand.
I can take time to be and be fully engrossed.

Gratitude is not attitude. It’s a wellspring
That flows freely from feelings of utter content.
To call such thing an attitude doesn’t say much.
It implies I’m aggressively cold to the touch.
Gratitude is a break from my will to resent.
It’s a pleasure to be a part of everything.

Decisions

TheMagicRealist.com

Much of life is of choices made throughout the day.
I can meet every moment in torment or joy.
I can help this behavior through clarity keen.
No one else can act for me nor stand in-between
Me and what I’ve decided. My will I employ
To live life as I choose to. Is this not our way?

My emotions go up and down. Talk in my mind
Is quite often chaotic. It makes not much sense.
It says nothing of import. It changes its tune
Pitching one thing at breakfast… its counter by noon.
Clarity in the moment is one’s sole defense
Because therein, one’s choices cannot be maligned.

Difficult are decisions made under some stress.
I’ll become then compulsive with clarity gone.
As I make them in happiness, clearly I see.
If I fuss much about them, confused I will be.
Yet there is inner guidance I rely upon
If I can but remember when under duress.

A Peaceful Mind

TheMagicRealist.com

As we grow to be human, our lives get complex.
Other creatures with stomachs full just lie around.
But when humans are satisfied, really, we’re not.
We will seek out new problems and give them a shot.
What is sought after diligently is then found.
One’s illusions are built upon what one expects.

Life ends not with survival for we human kind.
It begins with it, and that is not a good thing.
We’re not meant to be busy. We’re meant to chill out.
Most our illnesses come from our stressing, no doubt.
If we did much less of it, would happy hearts sing?
Everything is at peace to one who is aligned.

Yet, A Peaceful Mind is not the highest of goals
As it is fundamental to all that we do.
If done so in enjoyment, all acts must be done
In the state of A Peaceful Mind. Can life be fun?
Surely turmoil is lessened with a clearer view
Of a much grander clockwork engaging our souls.

Bad Hair Day

TheMagicRealist.com

One might ask a Zen master if he has bad days.
After all, it’s a good question. Most of us do.
He would probably answer, “That wouldn’t be wise.
I’m alive and at peace below clear sunny skies.
If I labeled my days good or bad as do you
Any worm of a thought might engender malaise.”

Processes that define us, too many to name,
Are of yet a few categories to be known.
Existential are most, and we pay them no mind.
But the ones psychological are of a kind
That when focused on too long, the mind can be blown.
Most of us with no training can play an ill game.

The Creator’s creation must impact the soul…
Not the one that I made and placed inside of me.
Concentrate on the grandeur? Can such a thing work?
I’ve no choice but to try or go waxing berserk.
I’m some clinical label if I want to be.
But I don’t. Peace in tranquility is my goal.

God And The Scientists

TheMagicRealist.com

It so happened in the twenty fourth century
That a small group of scientists went to see God.
When they got there, they greeted him, “Hi there, old man.
We have something to say. Please do hear if you can.
You’ve done great with creation. For that we applaud.
But you can now retire because we are as thee.”

God replied, “Is that so? Tell me, what can you do
That I have done already in my divine way?”
“We can create a human! Just watch if you will.
We have evolved a billion-fold… so has our skill.”

They then zing-zapped some soil and without much delay
A new human the dirt became, with feelings too.

“That is somewhat impressive, if I may be kind,”
The prefect of divinity said in response.

“You have made a fine human from soil that I made.
Can you make one from scratch and without the charade?
It would seem you’ve not mastered the subtle nuance
Of existing. Until then, your wills are confined.”

Beyond Ego

TheMagicRealist.com

It is known that the ego does things the hard way.
It has not much concern for the way that it acts.
It is good at one-upmanship. That is its goal.
It can’t know what it’s doing. It has not a soul.
It may be quite adept, though, at verbal attacks.
And when it can put others down, that makes its day.

It’s a very sad way to live. I know for sure.
Satisfaction is bittersweet in effort strong.
It is like an addiction to struggle… For what?
…Some grand sliver of spotlight? But what of my gut?
It will get me believing that I can’t do wrong.
It’s a symptom, perhaps, that I am insecure.

I should maintain some distance between it and me.
After all, it is not me nor can life revolve
Around it. Clearly, it is a survival tool.
If I learn how to use it, I’ll not be the fool.
So the ego can be my own puzzle to solve.
Maybe life can be blissful most naturally.

Papa Bird Has Plenty Butt

TheMagicRealist.com

Papa Bird has enough ass to keep the chicks warm.
It ain’t like he’s a featherweight at nurturing
His young children while his mate is out getting food.
They will trade off their duties in brief interlude.
Papa Bird believes equal rights is the right thing.
He is not truly conscious of breaking a norm.

Papa Bird works his butt off. The lady does too.
…So much must be completed in so little time.
But to labor is pleasure. Fulfillment is keen
When in each given moment, pure splendor is seen
As the best movement forward in spirit sublime.
We can know that the Papa Bird knows what to do.

He’s no half-hearted father who clings to manhood
As if it were a big bird that could fly away.
That which takes to the air does come back to the nest.
As all bids of a feather, we do but our best
To provide for our families, while every day,
Acting out in the ways that we feel that we should.

Do I Need Confidence?

TheMagicRealist.com

When presented with some kind of chasm to cross
Where on one side is me and the other is life,
There is something that I need. It’s not confidence
Nor an imagination in lieu of suspense.
Simple fear of the unknown and possible strife
Can direct my believing in personal loss.

What I need is some clarity – not some belief
That if I should act foolishly, my intellect
Has the right to chastise me for my stupid act.
It will do so relentlessly and without tact.
Even though I’m not perfect, should I get respect?
Yes, I should, because time that we have here is brief.

Every year is a new one until it is passed.
My most favored illusions I clearly can see.
Every cycle completes itself with a new start.
All the knowledge I’ve gained is to reset the heart.
The mind wants to remember how good life can be.
It is good to let go of the year become last.

I would love to see clearly what life has in store
For the one who perceives it and says that, “I am.”
That I clearly can do so by matter of choice,
I can feel light and bubbly. Should I then rejoice?
Any confidence I have is not worth a damn.
All I am is delighted that I can be more.

A Man And The Electric Chair

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

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

Don’t Cut A Deal With God

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

Paranormalcy And The Pranks Of Spirit

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

God’s Writing Tool

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

Youth And Truth

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

Your Drink And Two Dances

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

Holy Jesus!

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

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

Good Rat, Bad Rat

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

‘Tis A Mess Before Christmas…

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

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

Art Of The Swing

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

Holy Last Thursday

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

How’s That, Your Honor?

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

Valley Of A Cosmic Shadow

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

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

A Fist Full Of Pipe

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

Indigent Spirit

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

Bearded Bin Salmon Hood

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

The Inadequate Despot

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

Beyond The Yellow Vest Road

 

TheMagicRealist.com

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

[Ahhhhhhh…]  [Ahhhhhhh…]  [Ahhhhhhh…]

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

[Ahhhhhhh…]  [Ahhhhhhh…]

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

[Ahhhhhhh…]  [Ahhhhhhh…]  [Ahhhhhhh…]

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

[Ahhhhhhh…]  [Ahhhhhhh…]  [Ahhhhhhh…]

Latent Onset Barking Giblet Syndrome

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

A God We Can Trust

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

Smocking FIOTUS

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

The Mercurial Tyrant

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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