Tag Archive | food for thought

Don’t Believe, Don’t Disbelieve

TheMagicRealist.com

Will I be born again? Have I been here before?
These are questions I could ask, or I could care not.
My keen eyes don’t have vision. It’s me who’s inside,
Just as windows can see things. It’s they who reside
Squarely on one side of them. Is this what is taught?
How I wish this were so. Then we’d suffer no more.

I know I’m not my body. It is loaned to me
By the Mother of all matter born of this place.
When the loan time expires, I will pay it back.
She’s the best at collection. She keeps perfect track
Of all molecules managed in her time and space.
I exist to incur the loan most frequently.

This is only a story to those who have not
Had the kinds of experience to offer claim.
Don’t believe in the story if it makes no sense.
But don’t disbelieve either for your own defense.
To consider what’s said to you is not a shame.
Wise is one who observes and is open in thought.

Children And Teachers

TheMagicRealist.com

‘It’s a living.’ Some conclude that this is the case
As they try to make ends meet and pay off their loans.
It is stressful to work eighty hours per week
When their students’ wellbeing is all that they seek.
The most effective teacher is someone who owns
That our young are most valuable to the whole race.

It should not be ‘a living,’ yet we make it so
Through glitches in the systems that lock teachers out.
Education/Production… They both are the same
To the bodies that rule in the financial game.
Children should be what child-rearing is all about.
Teachers’ pay should reflect that for all that they know.

Does this make too much sense? Is this why it’s not done?
Something must be amiss in our handling of things.
If we had volunteer teachers, would that bode well?
They should have wealth already so in calm they dwell.
If we can’t treat our children as if we were kings
We should not welcome them until growth has begun.

Being Human Is Super

TheMagicRealist.com

Do I like being human? The question is moot.
Sometimes I feel like Superman; sometimes I’m weak
With my grip on reality. Nevertheless,
I delight in the wonder that I may express
Without effort. There’s no sense in my feeling meek,
As my writing, at times, can seem rather astute.

But is this an illusion? It’s human, at least,
To believe I control things to mitigate fear.
I can make it my costume and face the stiff wind,
Then hope that my identity is not chagrined.
When it’s found I’m no hero, will my fans still cheer?
When in tune with my nature, is my fame increased?

If I learn how to manage my thinking and heart,
Then I know that my actions are taken care of.
If I can do all this, then I can stroll through hell,
And find it of scant interest, but no place to dwell.
Humans are possibilities to express love.
Thinking ‘I’m only human’ is not thinking smart.

A Sweet Relationship

TheMagicRealist.com

There is sweetness and bitterness carefully mixed
In a strong psychic potion that makes the heart glow.
It begins rather physical. Senses behold
Possibility for chemistry to unfold.
Those in tune with their natures cause blessings to flow.
When in each other’s presence the two are transfixed.

One cannot extract sweetness from some other soul.
If you place such a burden on someone you love
Then resentment will fester until such a time
That it comes to the surface where it will begrime
What had once been as pure as the white turtle dove.
Those who tend to be needy cannot meet their goal.

Your expression of joy is your best loving gift
To your partner, deserving of all who you are.
Sweetness comes from the inside when one feels alive.
If two lovers can know this true love will survive.
When in wholesome commitment, no dream is too far.
Both will have but the will and the joy to uplift.

Dimensions Of Mind

TheMagicRealist.com

There are many dimensions of the human mind.
To be very specific, they number sixteen.
Those of Eastern tradition adopt this belief
While the West waxes mindless, befuddled by grief.
Sixteen bank accounts may make a person feel green
Even if sixteen dollars is his worth combined.

Broken down into four, it’s a much simpler task.
There’s the Intellect which is a double edged sword.
It can dissect a problem or cause lethal harm
And sometimes it’s a challenge for it to disarm.
It’s a tool that, when misused, can cause some discord.
For a while, it’s a beacon; then it’s a death mask.

There’s Identification with all that one knows
Whether it is illusion, delusion or fact.
There is Memory conscious in each living cell.
Everything that the species knows, each cell knows well.
The dimension of Being is rather abstract.
It is purest in essence, as nothing it shows.

It’s not I who’s informative. It is my race,
Both prolific and human. Perhaps I’m its voice,
Not opposed to explaining things that I have learned.
If I write from the ego, no fame will be earned…
Nor from otherwise. I live life’s drama by choice
At this point. No kind act shall reveal my disgrace.

Hour Of Power

TheMagicRealist.com

A town meeting at church about big power poles
Planted like picket fencing perplexing the hood…
And some talk of class action and possible hope…?
Why was I told to come here? …To learn I can’t cope
With utility giants? This does me no good.
I cannot be the victim whom someone controls.

Precise gentrification of historic lands
Through the use of big power distributed wide
Across networks with nodes interlinking tight threads…
Perhaps thousands of kilovolts will fry our heads.
Decreased property values are taken in stride
As the needs of the greedy remain what commands.

‘Twas a power drain hour – a time to sit still
And pay damned close attention to all that was said
From those convinced they’re victims who need to be saved
Through good-luck litigation. We’re better behaved
If we deal with our issues on our own instead.
Where there’s wanting, there’s always the means to fulfill.

Solicitors, Knock At Your Risk

TheMagicRealist.com

I’m not running for office and neither are you.
And I know you don’t think this is Beverly Hills.
I don’t need my damned soul saved. It’s doing just fine.
You’re a fool if you think I don’t know the divine.
Most professional pests seem to get their cheap thrills
With their in-your-face tactics and hullabaloo.

My FICO score isn’t at mark of the beast
And that’s none of your business. Don’t patronize me
With your slick condescension. I hear very well
Hidden language that lurks where the sea plankton dwell.
Just because I exist you won’t charge me a fee.
Those who prey on the poor see their profits increased.

I don’t need my damned lawn mowed, dear neighbor of mine.
Your con game is as thick as the prick in the suit.
Keep your eyes off my yard and my yard off your mind.
Your kind gardening guidance is of your behind.
When to all I’m considered a tree bearing fruit
I’ll assume all are hostile rather than benign.

The Service

TheMagicRealist.com

Who avails of The Service? Look at the bell curve,
With many at the center and few at the ends.
It’s not poor ones nor rich ones, but those in-between
Who partake of the process, because they have seen
What a burden new life is. On she it depends.
There’s demand for The Service and for those who serve.

It is all about sex lives, convenience and things
Others would judge as selfish and of barren heart.
But we scorn not the many. We lecture the poor
At one end of the spectrum. All they want is more
Just as anyone finding the need to depart
From unplanned deep commitment and all that it brings.

When you think of The Service, as this much is known,
Should there be a commitment to see with more light
Toward all women in general for who they are?
The whole question of ‘choice’ is one rather bizarre.
We may think that we know what is wrong and what’s right.
Take a look at the numbers and see what is shown.

World And Local Leaders

TheMagicRealist.com

The best folks aren’t in leadership. Is this the case?
And are we derelict in our putting them there?
Our democracy means each of us is the boss.
We’re the ones who have crafted a game of dice toss
Through our indolence or simply out of despair.
If we care not to vote, all are in a bad place.

That’s not all that we all can do. We can all act
As the HR department, collectively so.
The system does have instruments that we can use
To shape government according to our own views.
If a leader thinks he should rule, then he must go.
That is Our job assignment – not fiction, but fact!

It’s a two-party system we’ve put into place.
We have mixed oil and water as much as we can.
It is futilely feudal, our democracy,
When through party alignment we must disagree.
We can choose a good leader who has a good plan.
There is much about democracy to embrace.

Who Decides My Life?

TheMagicRealist.com

Some old man up there put me here. That’s what I’ve heard.
Among those who are like me, should that make much sense?
Who decides where I’m going and who I should be?
That would only be me. I should think you’d agree.
I decide what I’m doing at my own expense.
I seek out what is choicest from what is preferred.

People die of starvation. Did they make it so?
This is such a hard question. The answer is yes.
One’s decisions are shaped by one’s life circumstance.
And in tough situations, we’re given the chance
To emerge all the stronger. Life is a process
That involves interaction so that I may grow.

People also can die from consuming too much.
Our most personal choices are long to play out.
I can make the decision that I’ll do my best
To be more conscious of them and seldom be stressed.
My decisions control my life without a doubt.
I must therefore refine them to soften my touch.

How Important Is Thought?

TheMagicRealist.com

People sometimes complain I’m too much in my head.
This is true, and I know it. Is it a good thing?
Thinking is for engaging the physical plane.
If one goes far beyond that, he might go insane.
Nothing of existential value it can bring.
And when in search of wisdom, the mind is misled.

Too much value is placed on the thinking process.
Some old fart, way back when, said: I think; so, I am.
Well, he was, and he is now and shall ever be
But a fountainhead of Western philosophy.
Just because someone is, does the world give a damn?
We make much of our thinking the means to success.

Thinking can get addictive if it makes one high.
It has social significance. With other minds
One can start a big movement and trigger some change.
I am, so, I think, and this doesn’t sound strange.
I’m awash in deep feelings of various kinds,
And my thoughts are a small thing to help me get by.

If You Have A Child

TheMagicRealist.com

If you do have a child, life can sometimes get wild,
But it needn’t. Although there is lots of advice
From the many child specialists with all their books,
What cannot be expressed well, the book overlooks.
What determines if they will be naughty or nice
Is their own generation and times they have styled.

Much that you want to teach them, they already know
On an unconscious level. Most naturally
They will shy away from that which may cause them harm.
If mistakes are made, there is no cause for alarm.
Make the nest too well feathered, then they will not see
The potential within them to help them to grow.

Little children must know that ten fingers have they.
I would rather they’re taught how to use them instead.
Take you child out in nature and let him behold
All the wonder of life in its splendor untold.
Facts and figures are fanciful fluff for the head,
But they can, in fact, leave the mind in disarray.

Love your child when he knows not what you’ve taught him well.
He is not here to live your life nor work for you.
He will make his own path. You can’t point out his way.
You can fully support him in life, come what may.
To give loving acceptance is all you can do.
You have given him platform. His story he’ll tell.

One Who Feels Down And Out

TheMagicRealist.com

One who feels down and out as if squeezed through a spout
Of a sphincteric nature need not fret alone.
There are many who feel the same. And what they do
Is to find an escape hatch that they can crawl through.
Either that or they find a way to somehow own
Circumstantial fecality nestled in doubt.

 I look fine in the mirror, at least wearing clothes.
They obliterate nothing that gives me away.
How I feel is the question – not how others see.
I’m eternally grateful that I can be me.
If I feel like I’m lying in this that I say
Then there’s work to be done on myself, I suppose.

It’s another off day. I’m not feeling in sync
With the heart of the cosmos and neighbors and such.
This is not a big deal for me. It will soon pass.
I’ll respect the momentum of relative mass.
Comfort is in detachment and keeping in touch
With the part of oneself that one knows doesn’t stink.

Both Sides Now

TheMagicRealist.com

Dems protest our social ills.
The Grand Old Party thwarts their wills.
Divisive is one who instills contention day by day.
Most leaders promise change will come…
If not to most, at least, to some.
No change will come to lowlife scum if leaders have their way.
Who looks at change from both sides now?
I surely can’t. I’m thwarted somehow.
My own illusions are quite tall.
Perhaps I don’t know change at all.

Gut wrenching stories true to life
Expressed by people who know strife…
The disenchanted man and wife… Who yields unto their plea?
Not those who sit in places high.
Most human rights they would deny
If all in favor would comply with group insanity.
Who looks at hell from both sides now?
Who stews alone with sweat on his brow?
Will mad illusions brace his fall?
Right now, he knows not hell at all.

One’s nightmare is another’s dream.
Things rarely are quite as they seem.
Our system has embraced a scheme to undermine the deeds
Of he who has become insane.
I’d hope their efforts aren’t in vain.
Some look upon them with disdain, but stronger are the needs
Of those who have seen both sides now.
Tyranny we cannot allow.
What is most urgent is our call.
I really think there’s hope for all.

On The Creation Of ‘Vine’

TheMagicRealist.com

Now, it seems I’m a playwright. I’m having a blast!
And I’m proud of directing. It is my first time.
It’s been years since I’ve done this, and now, among friends,
We can craft good theater. Our success depends
Only on our believing we’re ready for prime.
People should take delight in a well-seasoned cast.

This is also my debut for acting a part
Whom I myself fashioned from somewhere in me.
Most of us act as flowers. My part is a Vine.
Somewhat odd in the garden, his heart is benign.
It’s a play to make flowers the powers that be
And to give true compassion a healthy jump-start.

Vine is absent his mind and seems one of a kind
Yet he needs to be noticed and ignored as well.
He does blend well, eventually, but not at first.
It may seem he may try things to see if he’s cursed.
We shall know that our message is clear as a bell.
Love is wholesome theater for those so inclined.

Can Yoga Cure Disease?

TheMagicRealist.com

There are two types of ailments. Infectious is one.
That means something outside of me made its way in.
It may act with a consciousness all of its own.
Pharmaceutical treatments may make me drug prone.
Logic would seem to dictate that’s where to begin.
Both enter from the outside to make an end run.

Chronic ailments, however, occur from inside.
In this case, it’s the body that makes itself sick.
Why on earth would my body attack me this way?
Has my mistreatment of it caused it to betray?
There’s some misunderstanding. To be specific,
On a cellular level, something is denied.

All it needs is some balance. It gets that within.
Everything that the body needs, it has on store.
If it doesn’t, it makes it from things that I eat
And from infinite wisdom. Indeed, I’m complete
In the sense that my body is its own doctor.
The best cure for most ailments is under my skin.

Akashic Cloud Storage

TheMagicRealist.com

I’m confused, and I should be, as well as content.
That means I am still searching, through dawn’s early light,
For some deep understanding beyond what is flesh
Wherein hard fact and spirit can easily mesh.
We are made the recording by our own birthright
Into firm physicality for fulfillment.

The Akash is an ether, but unlike the sea,
It links many dimensions that dare to be known.
I’m aware of my grossness of physical form.
It looks like it has weathered a horrific storm.
Can I look far beyond that and thereby postpone
An event unbecoming my reason to be?

I am things that are subtler. There’s lots of space
Between atoms. I’m also essentially wet.
I burn fuel and make heat, and I do that each day.
There is much less confusion in thinking this way.
I contain basic elements. Need I forget
That the force that enables me is not of place?

We are at once the record and whom which records.
Like sea coral, we imprint experience on
The fabric of existence. Pure wisdom it holds.
Truthful permanence permeates as it unfolds.
What remains of one’s being when this life is gone
Will take note of what living has moved the soul towards.

Acute Fear Of Failure

TheMagicRealist.com

Failure is an abstraction dependent on fear.
As it can be well crafted, it can be undone.
Before my self-undoing, I dare to swing high.
Should it be of concern that someday I will die?
Is there sense to one’s living if it’s not begun?
Would it matter had I something real to hold dear?

All of life is a steppingstone to only more
Of whatever I’ve held onto up until now.
I can alter the nowness, therefore, how I go
With my life without having to strut through a show.
I’ll act out my performance and then take a bow.
Within triumph and downfall there’s much to explore.

I’ll do well with my planning and setting my goal.
It’s a worthwhile activity to stay in shape.
But it’s also a huge hindrance to my soul growth.
Should my goal be to honor and integrate both?
It’s my self-condemnation I need to escape
And my gift of free will that I need to extol.

Righteous Nicety

TheMagicRealist.com

I will call you my sweetheart, but what’s in a name
When someone of sheer beauty defies such a thing?
Do not call me romantic. That is a name too,
For someone who is head over heels about you.
I’m not good at name calling. My true heart I bring
To my lover whom I hope will do just the same.

Just because it’s September, that hardly can mean
I can’t offer confection to my heart’s delight.
Noble knights do seek honor as currency for
The affections of fair maidens whom they adore.
I’ll respect you as equal, but it’s quite alright,
If you will, that I court you like on the big screen.

Let me love you, my darling, however I can.
If with flowers and chivalry, let it be known
That my love is as limitless as both are we.
Let us play our parts well, then in bliss we will be.
As two birds of a feather, forever we’ve flown.
We were meant for each other since being began.

Can I Heal Myself?

TheMagicRealist.com

I was once just a small thing – a fertilized cell
In my mother’s warm body. That’s how I became.
I have nothing to do with my being alive,
Nor with where to find love and how best to survive.
I and that which maintains me are one and the same.
I’ve a body that serves me and functions quite well.

It has innate capacity to itself heal.
It needs no outside influence to make it well.
The magnificent body has knowledge supreme.
It will manage my mismanaging to extreme.
Anything it may want, it has wisdom to tell
Its commanding assistant who knows how to feel.

If I eat a small piece of bread, it will become,
Within hours, a part of me. This is a feat
Most miraculous. I can put down the iPhone
And get back to the ‘I’ with some time left alone
So that I find contentment in soulful retreat
Wherein I may align to the beat of my drum.

Do I Feel Like A Weapon?

TheMagicRealist.com

How to deal with my anger… It will take me down!
It, in itself, is what I’m fighting. So why
Do I seek a thing outside me to cause me rage?
I know that it is senseless, yet still I engage
In the warfare of pettiness. I can’t comply
With Established malpractices. They make me frown.

I suppose I’m a bigot. I don’t care for pigs.
I will eat them at breakfast, so not all are bad.
But I cannot look up to one wearing a suit.
Money cannot be evil. Ill heart is the root
Of any interaction that makes me feel sad.
Customers get their Service much as the dog digs.

I must learn to choose battles, if life is a war,
Where there’s no in the meantime to comfort the now.
I must know that my ego is just part of me.
It and I share a freedom. We need not agree.
Should one hell of a mad-on become a death vow?
When I engage in battle, I ask for but more.

What Am I Seeking?

TheMagicRealist.com

I want more, but what of? I cannot clearly see.
Possibilities populate densely my heart.
I could get more specific. There’s pleasure and wealth…
Love for God and for country, and excellent health.
I exist now. Can this be an adequate start?
I know that what I’m seeking resides within me.

All I want is expansion. That’s basic enough
For the weary mind needing release from the fog.
Every wish has one purpose: That I can be more
Than I was before wanting my spirit to soar.
To engage the Almighty in warm dialogue
Is something to consider when wanting gets rough.

I just want to be happy as I make my way
Toward myself as reflected in all that I see.
There’s no stress in my wanting to be who I am.
Ecstasy I may find with a simple program.
Seek contentment in self, then the spirit is free
To receive what is wanted each and every day.

Before Bedtime

TheMagicRealist.com

I have many identities. They are my clothes.
I must wear them to function in society.
I select from my wardrobe, before I go out,
Which identity suits me. Sometimes I may doubt
If my clothing tools will function adequately
So the spirit in me aims to be as it shows.

Mostly, they are invisible, I can forget
That they are so. So, when I have reached the day’s end,
I will take time to ponder all garments I wore,
Then disrobe and place everything in the night drawer.
My discrete personalities can’t help but blend.
If I slept while I’m wearing them, then I would sweat.

As I walk through the garden, I do so as me.
I don’t walk as a sun sign or beast with a name.
I exist as pure life force, but with the firmware,
I can work here with others and learn how to care.
My true self and the things I wear are not the same.
So, at bedtime, I pray that my spirit be free.

How To End Poverty

TheMagicRealist.com

Poverty is of conscious perception of things
With the physical senses. This reality
I cannot take for granted. I can only know
What my five senses tell me to help me to grow.
Consciousness of the physical helps me to be
In a state of wellbeing and all that it brings.

Consciousness is of boundaries, solid and real.
My strong notion of ‘other’ is deeply ingrained.
And I cannot escape that. I think no one can.
It’s The tool of survival for woman and man.
Things that aren’t of the physical can’t be explained,
So we tend to mistrust them rather than to feel.

Feeling also is physical. It’s of the heart
Which also is a sense organ found in the soul.
It connects what is physical with what is not
So wellbeing of all life cannot be forgot.
What is good for each part is a gain for the whole.
A deep inner experience is where to start.

Pecker Safe – Pecker Sure

TheMagicRealist.com

Pecker SafePecker Sure, who could ask for much more
As people take to pecking at what’s in the safe?
Could there be things salacious in vivid detail
About women paid off on a fairly large scale?
What becomes common knowledge will fester and chafe
What is left of a thin skin prepared to get sore.

A Shithole of a paper – disgusting content
Meant to trash all your enemies and make folks think
That outrageous contrivances with bold headlines
Can do much to convince them or trick their behinds –
Your fine friend of a pecker puts you on the brink
Of a full-fledged catastrophe you will resent.

Do be careful which pecker you put you trust in.
You pay him to dick others… or did you forget?
Maybe he saw your dick coming and took a dive.
Have you learned that most peckers will flip to survive?
I might cum in my pants were I to see you sweat.
Should you practice ‘safe’ sex? I don’t think that’s a win.

My Bitch Did It!

TheMagicRealist.com

I would think every man has his very own bitch…
One to act as a scapegoat when something goes wrong.
Let her handle the piggy bank, then give her blame
When you’re both caught red-handed. Since shame is the game,
Then perhaps behind bars is where you both belong.
Those who won’t act like leaders just want to act rich.

I will tell you my bitch did it. That’s my defense.
I’ve prepared a definitive statement to that.
We’re all pigs in fine clothing. My bitch, as you see,
Is prepared to take heat and exonerate me.
She’ll take mud fairly well. She’s an awesome doormat.
When we get behind closed doors, things might get intense.

It’s that bitch that you gave me, God. She’s not your best.
Why would you dare to curse me for telling you so?
Every pimp on the planet will eat of that tree.
Both of you were well tempted, you have to agree.
When the garden betrays you, then where will you go?
The lawmaker in you leaves me not too impressed.

Over And Under The Weather

TheMagicRealist.com

To some, dark stormy weather, like women named Heather,
Provides somewhat mistily menacing thought.
We are meant to get over it, and when that’s done,
We are under the weather, and that isn’t fun.
Our most up and down movements are clearly self-taught.
We face challenge as we merge them altogether.

Again, movements are cycles, like weather patterns.
Each adheres to a rhythm unique to its own.
We can handle high amplitudes, both up and down.
When we’re under the weather, we do tend to frown.
We may think we would like to stay in the mid zone,
But remaining there too long will yield low returns.

It’s a pleasure to get over and under all
That we make without noticing most of the time.
We accumulate dark clouds, then whisk them away.
Life is made up of highs and lows throughout the day.
And from every low point we are willing to climb.
How we manage our weather is our only call.

It Happens Some Now Ago

TheMagicRealist.com

In an instant the world is, and I am as well
On the way toward no ending beginning with now.
There are things that take place in the now yet ahead.
They do happen before now. Nothing is misread.
My existence transcends what my mind can’t avow.
Whether past tense or pretense, my senses can’t tell.

Nowness is a wet fabric to velvet the gears
Of the cosmic machinery made to be known
By the senses and mind to be that which is real.
Within seas of perception there’s ample appeal
To decipher the cyclical until we’re shown
How to make sense of things and to conquer our fears.

So, this happens some now ago, as I partake
Of the presence around me. Some peace do I find
In the solace of mindfulness and a fresh start.
To engage with the nowness, do so from the heart.
Since there is but eternity, need we be kind?
It would seem wise to do so. Our souls are at stake.

The Mechanics of Time

TheMagicRealist.com

When under anesthesia we notice not time.
It would seem consciousness has an on and off switch.
When we’re ‘off,’ not a thing happens. It’s not like sleep
Where when one comes awake, memory one may keep
Of the things clearly dreamt about. Do I know which
Of the two states is more valid a paradigm?

We give meaning to observing cyclical things.
We mean for them to be what we make them to be –
A grand representation of eternity.
They are only perceptions most ultimately.
We’re all spinning in circles, as some would agree.
This should lead us to nowhere if nothing it brings.

We can study the footprints we’ve made in the sand.
The same pathways we walk notwithstanding the will
To detach from the physical and from the mind.
We know time to be something that can be defined
Only by observation and rational skill.
We make too much of some things to well understand.

All we know to be physical is made of time.
Everything has a birth and a time for its end.
Within substance is nothingness on a grand scale.
So to detach from nature in all its detail
Is the proper technique to help one to transcend
What has become activity just shy of crime.

What Does Enlightenment Look Like?

TheMagicRealist.com

Can someone show me what enlightenment looks like?
I have heard a lot of it, but I haven’t seen
Hide nor hair of it. Surely, I’ve looked everywhere.
I have searched the whole cosmos but can’t find it there.
Would it matter that much if my senses were keen,
Or would they tend to hinder this most humble hike?

What’s it like to drink water? How could I explain
That to someone who had not experienced such?
There’s not much I could say that would make ample sense.
Once I got barely started, boredom would commence.
I could go on forever and not convey much.
What becomes idle chatter could drive us insane.

We perceive, with our senses, the world in its awe.
We think this is reality, rightfully so.
But, it’s only perception. Existence is more
Than engaging the cosmos to earn a high score.
True enlightenment comes not from how much we know
But through our self-awareness within cosmic law.

Human Laws Are NOT Lawful

TheMagicRealist.com

Human laws don’t hold water, nor do they have weight
In the courtroom of cosmos where justice is served
Equally among all creatures with mass and form.
Leave it up to our species to stray from the norm.
How we learn to live well within space that is curved
Must depend on how well we can deal with our hate.

Nature seems to be cruel, though. It has but the heart
To take life in an instant or offer escape.
The decisions it makes are not so to be fair.
The cosmos was chaotic once, so should I care
That our randomness puts us in pretty good shape
For the planet surviving a most violent start?

Human truth is not truthful, if ‘is’ means ‘is not’
At the whim of the slick mind and tongue with the knack
For transforming our language into legalese.
Only lawyers can speak it like shooting the breeze.
What is lawful may turn out to be a drawback
When it’s used to deceive or to cover a plot.

Do I Know What I’m Doing?

TheMagicRealist.com

To deliver a sliver of Heisenberg diced
And prepared for a salad to tweak geek delight
Is no kind of existence to nurture one’s soul
Unless gain through the mundane is one’s only goal.
I can know where I am now, and that is alright,
But my rate of momentum becomes sacrificed.

Simply by the same token, when I’m on the run
About business and stress over time that remains,
I can’t know where I am ‘til I take time to think.
Yet as soon as I do that, my speed takes a blink.
If I knew both at once, I’d be freed from all chains.
Then I’d know what I’m doing… perhaps having fun.

It is tricky to know things that aren’t to be known
Because nature prevents me from breaking its code.
It’s not that I’m not sharp enough. It’s that I am
The same as my perceptions in this hologram.
I can approximate, when momentum is slowed,
Just about where I should be. That I can condone.

Venom

TheMagicRealist.com

Venom wants to dissolve things. It has its own drive,
But with hate delegated from whence it became.
It indeed has a consciousness and a strong will.
As it infiltrates, its only will is to kill.
Nature offers some creatures no feelings of shame
Most of life has one will which is to stay alive.

Clearly lethally liquid an army deployed
At the puncture point, it races through passageways,
Knowing full well what needs to be done by command
Of the beast who delivered it through its death gland.
Consciousness among humans can rightfully raise
Lest we beef up our biting and be soon destroyed.

Venom is quite intelligent. It knows the way
To affect vital organs and cause instant shock.
It will fight upon contact with any belief.
Its sole purpose in life is to sow bitter grief.
Would it help if one’s skin were of steel or of rock?
Maybe so, but the mind can’t be fearful of play.

Am I Creating Nasty Chemistry?

TheMagicRealist.com

Much of illness, some find, has its root in the mind.
So how do I prevent its beginning, pray tell?
Can I reach in and heal it before it gets sick?
Illness isn’t a speed freak. It doesn’t move quick
Unless ill thinking quickens where hurt feelings dwell.
My disease and bad thinking are well intertwined.

If my hand ups and slaps me, has something gone wrong?
I would call that an ailment. But what should be done?
Is a case for handectomy or a strong pill
Indicated to separate action from will?
If my hand did betray me, that would not be fun.
It’s a blessing that most parts of me get along.

If I think of a tiger, some changes take place
In my whole body chemistry. This is a fact.
If I think about flowers, my body will know
Therapeutic enhancement. Indeed, it may glow.
How I think through the day will instruct how I act.
It is up to my thinking to yield healing grace.

All of this has been studied… this chemistry thing.
There’s no rational reason for sickness to be.
I exist in a toxic soup I can’t escape,
But I can use my mind to, in essence, reshape
Chemical elements somewhat like alchemy,
To me, solace and wellness does good science bring.

Situation Room

TheMagicRealist.com

Some situation room situation arose
When too much room to situate was brought to light
Through unlawful recording when rose got the boot.
She has written a book now. It may earn some loot.
She has challenged her former boss to a cat fight.
A new day and more drama… Let’s see how it goes.

She once spoke as if she’d had a slurp of that steak
And perhaps some stiff Kool-Aid to wash it down well.
Now it’s out of her system, or that’s how it seems.
This whole episode will yield some interesting memes.
She has promised the world she has much more to tell.
This old girl is no dog. She’s much more like a snake.

So… Another quick rerun of slam-dunk-a-mole.
We all know that misdissing runs deep in his blood.
For two peas in a pod in a world of deceit,
When the rug is pulled from you, you may lose your feet.
You accept nothing dearer nor clearer than mud.
History will record you both absent of soul.

Rectocephalic Dementia

TheMagicRealist.com

When one seeks legal counsel, look for a good mouse…
One who thinks he can bullshit his way past a cat.
He must be dumb and arrogant, piggish and mean,
And the grossest historian damned to be seen.
He should be managed well with the brain of a gnat
But kept clear of the pantry within the outhouse.

We all know that a stuffed mouse can kick a cat’s ass.
That is, if he is fool enough to think that way.
In his sick mind, he throws the cat balls of catnip.
But the cat, not indulgent, does not give a rip.
The loud mouse thinks that somehow he’ll make the cat’s day.
If that happened, the ass of the mouse would be grass.

But it is anyway. How this big cat will play
Is a mystery. He keeps his plan under hat.
How does once a good leader become what is now
A most derelict specimen, pseudo highbrow,
Who hits every news circuit for bogus chit chat
About issues of magnitude in a vague way?

You’re a mouse of the law with dentures meant to gnaw
At the heart of pure logic and plain common sense.
To demean the demented is not why I write.
But, you give lousy counsel. Your defense is trite.
My two cents are now offered here at your expense
As you pretend you’re willing to dodge a cat’s paw.

…But He Can’t Tie His Shoes

TheMagicRealist.com

Use both hands to bring something up close to your face.
If you don’t, you might spill it. Don’t let people know.
Use a wink and a nod or a shifty-eyed stare
To tell all folks around you they’d better beware
If they notice that your mind has left long ago.
To step down when you’re able to is no disgrace.

Your opponent was weak because she’s not a man.
She’s as old as the dickens and has fainting spells.
You seem fit to attack her, so I don’t see why
I can’t point out your flesh flaws. Why wouldn’t I try
To make sense of your focus and draw parallels
To your senile behavior as much as I can?

You’re a failing old fart, fool. I’m not far behind.
It does take one to know one who is in decline.
Take your lamp and fade gently into the sunset.
Give the new wave some breathing room with no regret.
Take a nap now. The rest of the world will do fine.
‘Highly functioning’ seniors should learn to be kind.

Ambition Is Relative

TheMagicRealist.com

Some reach higher; some, lower, and many do both.
Everyone has a path unique and custom made.
We build high down on paper, then up from the ground.
We may pray that our buildings become world renown.
Once we know what we’re doing, we’re made in the shade.
How we manage ambition determines our growth.

Some folks like to make molehills. They will do that well.
Many small hills make mountains. That big job is done
By yet others efficiently due to their skills
At amassing small matters by force of their wills.
No one needs to get prideful. We’re all here for fun.
Should one wear the fine work one does on one’s lapel?

In the military folks do that, and that’s fine.
Their strong sense of ambition should lead all the rest.
But for lazy civilian folk, there is no need
Because tokens of wealth do delineate greed.
My own flavor of ambition is best expressed
When, without others noticing, I dare to shine.

The Ruling

TheMagicRealist.com

Don’t be hoein’ while flowin’. Do take a damned break!
By the way, what you do for a living is wrong.
You’re not of the right gender to make the big bucks.
We’ll equate you with life, and you know that life sucks.
You should be making babies and polishing shlong
But for only one pimp for whom you’re his namesake.

You know how to wear makeup and fuss with your hair
And learn difficult footsteps while wearing high heels.
These are privileges given you by this great land.
You have rights, and those aren’t. You’ve no right to demand
Self control of your frail bodies. Weakness appeals
To the sex drives of rugged men most self-aware.

If you challenge our ruling, you’re fooling with fire.
If you think we aren’t serious, just call our bluff.
Need we fight you or smite you with stiff penalty
For insisting to be who you decide to be?
Women are moving forward but is that enough?
It depends on how much thirst for truth they inspire.

What Happened to Home?

TheMagicRealist.com

What has happened to home where the buffalo roam
And most people behave somewhat well if they can
Find it in themselves to abide by golden rules?
We cannot be forsaken nor taken for fools.
We’re reduced to a playing field run by one man
Whose affairs are examined with a fine toothed comb.

What has happened to baseball and mom’s apple pie?
Its aroma still lingers as far as third base.
Sentiments are olfactory at the brain stem.
Like the baseball card bubble gum smell, we love them.
Do political values toward race run the race
From a derelict tower that touches the sky?

Who’s the batter at home plate prepared for the pitch
That the tower will babel with indirect force?
Can he strike in a way that we score a home run?
The last inning of this game has surely begun.
Would some hotdogs and ketchup be par for the course?
Between scoring and winning, who knows which is which?

Trump Ramen

TheMagicRealist.com

I once heard the House Speaker speak ill of Trump steak.
But since then, he has had a bite… maybe a few.
I’d assume he must like it. I’ve heard no complaints.
Neither he nor McConnell consider constraints
On this unruly inmate whose words are untrue.
Tasty Ramen behind prison bars he will make.

All the world will in unison piss out his name.
Our demonic possession will find an escape.
Is the sight of stern justice the heart of the goal?
Were it not for kind karma, I’d be such a soul.
We need not play the victim. We’re in better shape
Than the Trump tribe of gangsters who’ll go down in shame.

With his genius swamp rat skills, he’ll learn to throw down
And share rank recipes with the folk of his kind.
He may learn to do push-ups and get back in shape.
There’s no limit on time. He will find no escape.
He will have dirty, mean people fuck with his mind.
There is time enough for him to practice his frown.

Build That Wall!

TheMagicRealist.com

Build That Wall! Look what’s happened to this blessed land.
What the Hell has become of our democracy?
Things have changed, and that always means something’s gone wrong.
We’re reduced to a nation where all can belong.
Did our white male forefathers not fully agree
That those different should not be allowed to expand?

Build That Wall brick by brick, as it is in the mind
Densely focused on hate that it calls common sense.
Build it high as the heavens and wide like the sea.
That which isn’t quite like us (between you and me)
Should be banned from high office at any expense.
We’re a melting pot filled with the worst of mankind.

One dark one has moved gently out of the limelight.
He’s replaced by one golden-haired, orange bag of air.
We know that he is white with no DNA test,
But the birth of the darkie should well be addressed.
Build That Wall because it’s no one else’s affair.
We’re a nation of fears, and we do what is right!

Rainforest Penguin

TheMagicRealist.com

Cool and dapper I am, though I may be a ham,
I’m a stranger to any strange land I make home.
I may walk side to side, but I do so with pride.
As I hold my head high, I have nothing to hide.
I have license to freak and much freedom to roam
And if people don’t like it, I don’t give a damn!

I may be short and fatty and made for the cold.
Does that mean I can’t yield to the tucan in me?
In this world of variety I find my place
among creatures abundant of integral grace.
From the quaint wooden boardwalk to Antarctic sea,
There is pure loving kindness for me to behold.

I’m a Rainforest Penguin by day and by night
And, for now, that’s delightful. I have not a care
That I should be elsewhere doing some other thing.
I am never misplaced, and my heart knows to sing
Because wholesome variety is everywhere.
I’m at home in my rainforest. Things are alright.

Q anon, The Adult Children of Q aholics ?

TheMagicRealist.com

Well… It’s kind of a monster equipped with a cloak
That it turns on when it fears that it may be seen.
Those old bastards are tricky. They control us all.
We can’t fight them alone because we are too small.
We believe in our Trumpster because he is mean.
He will deep six the deep state and indecent folk.

Don’t ask me to explain it. It’s to plain for that.
If it needs to make sense to you, do understand
I don’t need to be sensible. That’s why I vote!
I’ll not have left winged logic be jammed down my throat.
Our loud trumpet will uncover what had been planned
By those phantom child pornographers under hat.

Barking birds are suspicious when they make no sound
As they perch proud and peaceful in government trees.
They commune with the Clintons, Obamas and Cher…
Even with future aliens who are out there.
And as long as I find someone else who agrees,
When some truth is uncovered, we will stand our ground.

Good JuJu

TheMagicRealist.com

When one speaks of Good JuJu, what could that imply?
Probably it was hijacked and sold as a slave.
But, at present, it means magic of the best kind.
Esoteric immersion can be self-defined.
To receive information from folks past the grave
Is a most common practice. Deception is why.

In the dense, fleshy body, one can conceal truth.
One can hide behind masks that the ego has made.
People don’t ordinarily read others’ minds,
So we tend to get tricky with games of all kinds.
We can even be driven to drink The Kook-Aid
And bring heartfelt resentment to the polling booth.

There is lots of Good JuJu, the best antidote
To the sickening mojo that would have its way
Were it not for the talents of some gifted few
Who, with enhanced discernment, and keen insight too,
Help to sort out the truth from untruth day by day.
Simple freedom from fantasy they do promote.

The Outhouse

TheMagicRealist.com

Crescent moon on the white house next to a dim star…
It was once somewhat functional as a workplace.
It’s a place for first family to clear their bowels.
In that difficult process, they often wear scowls.
The ill-tempered, mad tenant will surely debase
Any space he inhabits both here and afar.

The big swamp that was spoken of has grown in size.
Underneath the foundation, there’s not enough room.
So, the crap has no place to go but right inside
Where it stinks to high Russia who snickers in pride.
Who would give them the go ahead to usher doom
To our way of democracy? Is the man wise?

Add a tour at the outhouse to your resume.
At some federal prison you’ll find proper work.
It’s a shithole already. You can’t make it one.
You’re about to be busted, you son of a gun!
At your next job, you will have no reason to smirk.
Crowds will cheer on the day when you are locked away.

Eye to Eye

TheMagicRealist.com

Don’t look down on another nor up to the law.
Meet someone eye to eye. You then both will stand tall.
Looking down on a person, one harbors disdain.
Looking up, you’ll exalt one beyond what is sane.
Look a person straight on. That would be the best call.
If you can’t see directly, then you must withdraw.

That dear one you spend time with who bites your behind
Is the same as you are in the most basic ways.
You both honor the fact that you both are alive.
Life is finite. You don’t have the ass to deprive
Someone else nor yourself of God’s infinite praise.
As we see eye to eye, do we bear that in mind?

As you wake, and you put your first foot to the floor
Thank the Lord that you have one, and that you’re alive.
That sounds cliché and petty by now, but at least
The rat bastard and you aren’t among the deceased.
That is not such a bad thing. We’re here to survive
And the webs that we weave we can never ignore.

Black for Trump

TheMagicRealist.com

I’m a Proud Black for Trump! I’ve his dick up my rump
Or perhaps a facsimile with the same name.
Anyway, I’m in heaven. I feel no disgrace
From my people of color. Why do I embrace
Such a figure whose care for me should cause me shame?
If I go against logic, am I then a chump?

I know who to be black for. It isn’t for me
But for he who is chosen to fulfill God’s plan.
I’m a wounded religious freak on a lost cause.
I don’t know who I am because I never was.
Now I’m Bozo, the Black Man and avid Trump fan.
I must stand right behind him so all blacks can see.

Vote for Trump, my black brothers and sisters in race.
He has done nothing to us nor for us just yet.
He may go to the loony bin sooner than I
And, like him, I am kind of a strange thinking guy.
Were he removed from office… That, I would regret.
That would mean I’d have only my dark soul to face.

The Probe

TheMagicRealist.com

What the Hell is that thing? Is it some lethal tool?
It looks frightfully serious. What’s it used for?
I most surely don’t need one. I’ve done nothing wrong.
I’m above common circuitry where I belong.
Keep the damned thing away from me in a locked drawer.
I will not have it touch me. I won’t be a fool.

I don’t need to be checked. There’s no issue with me.
My neon ‘No Collusion’ sign needs no repair.
It is built tough and livid by strength of my will.
I will not be examined, nor will I sit still
When losers take pot shots at me while they’re on air.
I Am Totally Innocent. You Must Agree.

When one has troubleshooting skills sharp as a blade
Then the faulty components are easy to find.
And when detailed schematics are at one’s avail,
One evaluates trouble on an immense scale.
Our most intricate systems have been misaligned.
All will return to normal. Do not be afraid.

The Spin

TheMagicRealist.com

“This cue ball needs some ‘English’.” I know what that means,
Though I don’t hang with pool sharks. They’d say I’m too slow
At responding to words printed or spoken well,
And applied with precision. How do I impel
My intention effectively for the best show?
I would say that my English is part of my genes.

One’s intent is the cue ball. Its path is the way
To deliver direct force to that which it sees.
But intent knows no English. That comes from the mind
Of the conscious intender whose game is streamlined
To the purpose specific with power to seize
The collective group consciousness destined to splay.

Words are weighted with meaning. They’re easily spun
And propelled to the limits of what can be known.
In the mind there are pockets – whirlpools of a kind.
When expended thoughts go there, one becomes refined.
English seems to lack motion sometimes, it’s been shown.
When one aims just off center, the spin has begun.