Tag Archive | humorous

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.

Your Source Is Never Up Your Ass

TheMagicRealist.com

Your Source cannot nor will not behave like your boss.
If you need time to levitate, Source will agree.
With you shoes off and postured in true lotus style,
You’ll tune in to your third eye and chill for a while.
Perhaps none in the office will not even see
As they’re so busy working at masking work loss.

Your Source does have its place, and that may be at home
But at home is the infinite cosmos wherein
Alignment with God Consciousness is the main goal.
Let your work take a break as you refresh your soul.
To ignore divine calling is to commit sin.
You would not get much work done in such a syndrome.

Your Source can’t be the bastard who breathes down your neck
And demands to see much more hard work out of you.
Your Source has not a fetish for your body parts
Unlike difficult people with fear in their hearts.
Put some ass in your mantra and add the boss too.
Your value will increase as well as your pay check.

Pay Your Bills Before Leaving

TheMagicRealist.com

Every moment I spend here forms free falling sand
Through the eye of the hourglass that I know as time.
Neither debit or credit can know its true name
Nor its call to fulfillment as part of the game.
Mindfulness about finance worth all of a dime
Makes for life convoluted and surely ill-planned.

If you say I must pay it, relay it to me
In a manner appropriate to who I am.
I appear to be human. I’ll take it as fact.
Can my figures befall me and counter transact
To the point where the earth sees my life as a sham?
If I ask such a question, am I meant to be?

Don’t remind me I’m ‘outta here.’ Save your junk mail
With your bleak advertisements. I’ll take my demise
Not in monthly installments, but in moments new
With no thought of my net worth and how much is due.
When my time here expires, will you cease your tries?
With a new change of address, will daftness prevail?

Why A Duck?

TheMagicRealist.com

Why A Duck when it’s not often made very clear,
Whether in the context of a humorous plot
Or clearly isolated in pure consciousness?
Every duck has to bathe itself when it’s a mess.
When a duck is not quacking, it’s lacking a lot.
Cleanliness is a virtue that most ducks hold dear.

Why A Duck, still, instead of some other life form?
That which bridges the banks has a similar sound.
And most ducks keep their sex lives a private affair.
Some would not want to fuck one. Others wouldn’t care.
A clean duck who is celibate can be profound.
Why A Duck has thick feathers is to keep it warm.

It’s unknown why a duck is the topic today.
Could it be that my word fuel is reaching its end?
Not a chance that could happen. I am born to write.
So, I’ll find things to play with that bring me delight.
Why a Duck, then, is simply a joy to expend
Some nervous verbal energy in my own way.

Time To Change The Dark Matter

TheMagicRealist.com

There’s a ton of dark matter. It does not have weight.
How do lay folk speak sense of this fluid-assed place?
Hardworking astrophysicists delve evermore
Into mysteries. We are destined to explore
Every aspect of being so we may embrace
A keener self-awareness for how we create.

We did fear any darkness in our early dawn,
And the same for the wild flame, although it gave light.
Have we harnessed the flame as we have the wild horse?
It may matter if we are a weak or strong force.
That dark matter tames light matter seems rather trite.
This notion of expansion does cause me to yawn.

Adrift in an aquarium made up of stuff
That is made up of weirder stuff… It’s a steep hole.
There’s a whole lot more dark stuff. The light stuff should then
Find a way to negotiate and somehow blend.
If such forced integration is rough on the soul,
Then detach from the matter. You have had enough.

Your Darned Tooting!

TheMagicRealist.com

If you think your darned tooting is something to be
An endorsement from me for your trying to play
That damned trumpet, you’re not only totally wrong,
You should give up the effort and take up ping-pong.
I can’t listen to you make that racket all day.
I have run out of earplugs most distressingly.

Your darned tooting your face off is stressing me out
And my ears have turned vicious defending their space.
They demand that my index fingers take a role
In preventing their suffering. They want control
Of what they are presented with. They can’t embrace
Your most discordant whaling. It sears them with doubt.

If you love your darned tooting, then toot as you may
Even though dead composers will puke in their graves.
Mom may find you have talent after quite some time.
As you learn about earth life, exposure is prime.
We are blessed in our seeing how all life behaves.
Keep up well with your lessons, but don’t make my day.

Ascension Flu

TheMagicRealist.com

So much talk of Ascension – no mention of flu
When that’s all that’s been happening. God, am I sick!
I feel like the damned cosmos has taken a piss
On my sense of wellbeing. I don’t deserve this.
Getting through this Ascension is no easy trick.
To act somewhat enlightened is all I can do.

Some hot tea with some lemon and honey displace
Other methods of seeking alignment these days.
I have given my yoga mat some time to rest
So my chakra points will not be put through the test.
Kundalini is one thing I don’t want to raise.
Swollen sinuses have hijacked my inner space.

Have you heard of Ascension Flu? That’s what I’ve got.
Too much time spent ascending above the hard earth
Can result in the earth taking me to the side
To say, “You were born here, so by me you abide.”
Leave it to mother nature to mess with my mirth.
I’m all up for Ascension, but today I’m fraught.

Esoteric Asshology

TheMagicRealist.com

Why are some people assholes while others are fine?
One would have to look into the sky for some truth.
If the sign of the asshole had welcomed the sun
At the time that the life of the jerk had begun,
That’s a sure sign you’ll need a stiff shot of vermouth
If indeed you must deal with him by fate’s design.

A quick course in asshology may be of use
Since this sign is prolific among all there are.
Those born under the asshole outnumber the rest
Of all other signs totaled. This means we’re not blessed.
So assholes are more plentiful clearly by far.
They cannot be contained. That is why they run loose.

Esoteric in nature, what assholes know well
Is how to make life difficult for those they serve.
Their asshology should make them bright asshole stars.
Pseudoscience can benefit from their memoirs
Written in the third person to throw all a curve.
It does feel like the cosmos is under a spell.

On Not Eating The Foo

TheMagicRealist.com

Don’t be eating the foo! That stuff is bad for you.
If you want to stay healthy, just stick with the rice.
The foo may contain pork snout and ass of the gnat.
I don’t mess with the foo. You can understand that.
Either veggies or raw fish or fruit will suffice.
Staying clear of the foo is the right thing to do.

There are many a creature who do act the foo.
Other creatures consume them and all that they say.
If their acts become fishy, full blown is the need
To protect what was gained through deception and greed.
We may look for a hero to come save our way
Of believing and digesting all we can chew.

What is far worse is eating the foo, I believe.
If you’re not good with chopsticks, you will not do well.
We are clumsy already with just forks and knives.
That may well be a good thing – a check on our lives.
To avoid indigestion and feeling like hell,
Feed that foo to the big bowl, then joyfully grieve.

The Mischievous Child

TheMagicRealist.com

Children want to be happy. Sometimes that looks like
One of many a headache throughout the long day.
We all cater to mischief as it brings delight
In a manner that makes everything seem alright.
We were all once like Krishna, contented in play
And calamitous capers conceived for the strike.

Just as girls will be girls, we know boys will be boys.
And all children are sinless in God’s loving eyes.
It’s big boys and big girls whose mischief can cause harm.
As adults we make lethal our innocent charm.
Tuning in to the inner child may make one wise
To the magic of merriment and simple joys.

Does my mischief have meaning or slap a mean stick?
On most days, that’s a no-brainer, but not today.
I’ll admit I have writer’s block, but it’s all good.
Since I’ve gotten this far without knocking on wood,
I would say, for today, I’ve had plenty of play.
It is in my best interest to end this one quick.

Church For The Halibut

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s a place of communion for people of faith
With events that are centered sometimes around food.
To gavotte or to gallivant on the church grounds
Is a choice of delight when good seafood abounds.
We can put ourselves squarely in worshiping mood
Every day of the week, though we can’t reach the eighth.

But don’t go to church just for the halibut please.
The potluck of profundity purports to pay
Some attention to kinship and brotherly love.
As our palates are placated we look above
In thanksgiving for having a wonderful day.
To consume what is righteous is done so with ease.

So, do not, for the halibut, cut yourself short
Of the other fine entrees that come from the sea.
As five loaves and two fishes will feed the big crowd
It would take much more halibut than is allowed
By the church’s small budget unfortunately.
Go to church then to eat well and show your support.

Death And The Doornail

TheMagicRealist.com

We are big on comparisons. Why is this so?
It’s because we’re creative in manifold ways.
We’ll compare death to doornails and other objects
That were never alive once in all due respects.
Also mutton and dodo birds enter the phrase
That describes death by simile for all to know.

But is death like the doornail? There could be some doubt.
The doornail is a heavy thing, hard to the touch.
It hangs out in tough wooden things where it feels best.
Though it may rust in wet weather, still it is blessed
With steadfastness and presence. It doesn’t do much
But indeed it does something that we care about.

It could be that all doornails are living and well
In their silent dimension where motion is less
Than in other worlds. They might be having a blast.
How would people perceive from our world that is fast?
And to what mode of meaning do we acquiesce?
If a doornail should die, how on earth could we tell?

Schidtfaced

TheMagicRealist.com

To be born and be human, one must have a name
And it is something given. We have not the choice
In which ones we will take as we make our way here.
If some knew what was coming, they would come in fear
That the names they are given might make people voice
Their obnoxious remarks, though benign just the same.

Linking faces to names… That’s what folks like to do.
It’s the best way to keep track of people we know.
A good face then can have a bad name, just as well
As the mug that resembles the bat out of hell
Can be blessed with a pretty name – one that does flow
From the lips like a butterfly… or honeydew.

If your name is a cumbersome one, it may be
That you also break mirrors remotely with ease.
One who has both these assets is lethal at best
And at worst a mere scapegoat that most would detest.
A good name with a good face may quite often please.
Names are not really faces, we all can agree.

From Which Well Doth Hell Speweth?

TheMagicRealist.com

Why to stay harder longer should make sense to me
Or should have some scant meaning to parts that I know
That know nothing of woe for not having retired
From a lifetime of work erotically inspired…
I cannot figure out. And this all goes to show
That Big Brother and TMI seem to agree.

Who the hell are they talking to thinking it’s me?
There must be a statistic to guide their campaign.
They will greet on my birthday and many days hence.
When I’m caught live on line, the ads can get intense.
It is not all that personal. I must refrain
From becoming too bothered by things that I see.

I need no bride from Russia nor Rolex device.
That may be because I’m not the one who they think
Pays attention to not much beyond what he sees.
They may spew as they wish. I will do as I please
And not be too resentful I’ll come to the brink
Of a backlash vociferous and not too nice.

Multi-Bean Pleistocene Bison Spleen Stew

TheMagicRealist.com

The best part of the bison indeed is the spleen
And the Pleistocene bison has one that is old.
Good gets better with age. How I wish it were true
All across the time spectrum, but that’s nothing new.
All I want for right now is to kindly be told
Where to go for some noteworthy bison cuisine.

I like Multi-Bean Pleistocene Bison Spleen Stew.
It’s gestalt to the gizzard. It dons the ribcage
With a cloak of endearment to utter nonsense.
It puts chest on one’s hair perhaps at one’s expense.
There is nothing that my silliness won’t engage
Even if my behavior is but for the few.

And cooked in with my bison stew there must be beans
In varieties plentiful for the best bowl.
I can be nice to bison spleen by marinade
Then when it’s fully stained pungency will pervade
Through the consciousness with only play as the goal.
Sometimes digestion favors peculiar proteins.

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.

…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.

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.

Jolly Jizz, The Johnson Juicer

TheMagicRealist.com

When the stiff Mister Johnson has no proper date,
A most urgent condition has made itself clear.
For the dude he’s attached to, there’s trouble as well.
He will thoroughly brief himself on cunt intel
To provide the raised gentleman respite from fear.
Is success or is failure determined by fate?

Please don’t answer the question. Your problems are solved!
If you don’t have the real thing but do have a hand,
Just grab hold of a Jolly Jizz. You will do fine.
You won’t sweat much, and you will not wear out your spine.
You will never be lost when things don’t go as planned.
Why put up with the hassle of others involved?

Jolly Jizz by SpoogeMaster is just what you need.
She’s your sleek sultry substitute absent of voice.
You can slop-sock it to her held with a firm grip.
You Are Busy! You don’t have the time for courtship.
Do invest in The sure thing. That is your best choice.
With your friend on the standby, you’ll always succeed.

Writer’s Right

TheMagicRealist.com

There is plenty to write about. I have no doubt
That I’ll have enough content to last ‘til I’m done
Caring much about revealing who I’ve become
To a make-believe audience. There may be some
Who I reach in some small way. That, I would not shun.
I don’t get any feedback. I remain devout…

…Not to pride in my channeling who I must be
To the people who may see the work that I do,
But to stating my purpose. There is nothing more.
I uncomplicate living by not keeping score
With myself or with anyone. I can be true
To the still, quiet observer deep within me.

I’ve a right to my writing. It pleases me so
To express, in my own way, my life day to day.
If my conscience can read it, then see where it’s been,
It becomes therapeutic. Who knows where or when
One may find it of value sufficient to say
To my face, “You’re a major dude. You ought to know.”

Diagnosis

TheMagicRealist.com

This does show you’re excited and light on your feet.
It is good that we caught this behavior in time.
Your condition is fortunate, as we can see.
You appear quite delighted. My colleagues agree.
You’re as old as a fossil yet seem in your prime.
Is your secret, dear patient, something that you eat?

We do want you to tell us. The whole world should know
How your anti-disease remedy came to be.
Did it come about suddenly, like overnight?
Or did you work a long while to get it just right?
I’m your best radiologist to the degree
I reflect what’s inside you, then watch as you glow.

Or, you could be your own doctor. You don’t need us
To reveal what’s been in you since heaven knows when.
The snapshot is a sound diagnostic technique.
Many people apply it. It’s nothing unique.
The best resonance imaging does depend, then,
On whatever that you and your soul may discuss.

The Grill

TheMagicRealist.com

Do you know how to swim? That’s my question to you.
Well, I am a lifeguard. That is not what I asked!
You’re evading the question. I know what you are.
You’re a devious trickster with answers bizarre.
I am not some world player who must be unmasked.
I am speaking the truth. That is all I can do.

So then answer the question. I’ll ask you once more.
Do you know that sea monsters lurk in oceans deep?
Well, I don’t scuba dive, sir. So, I would not care.
Your disgraceful elusiveness is tough to bear.
Does your mama wear army boots? I’ll bet they’re cheap.
Congressman, that’s a cheap shot, one that I deplore.

Mister Chairman, this man should be held in contempt.
He just will not cooperate, and he looks fine.
He’s not breaking a sweat. There is calm in his eyes.
He should cower before us and fear his demise.
He can speak with conviction and does have a spine.
We can fool with most folks. He should not be exempt.

You Ain’t No Popsicle

TheMagicRealist.com

Would you try to tempt Jesus again were he here?
Anything you would bribe with, you never did own.
Is the hair up the buttock beginning to heat?
You may melt like a popsicle in your defeat.
Why so frigid a tone with our friends you have shown?
Is there something that Putin knows that brings on fear?

So, you ain’t no popsicle compared to oDude
To the north of us. Is that the hair up your ass?
Women would lick his face if he gave them the chance.
And, if he were not married, they would drop their pants.
Unlike you, he’s a gentleman of noble class.
What a Hell of a reason to treat the dude rude.

I am old just as you are, Don Juan past the wane.
It ain’t all about pimping and where best to grab.
Cool orange schmuck on a shtick is what you have become.
It’s ironic. You promised to flush out the ‘scum.’
You’re a loud flashy face with a gift for the gab.
Do the world a full flavor. Go drip down some drain.

Now, does this really feel good? It’s something to do.
It accomplishes not much, but what can I say?
I can’t do anything right off hand except write.
And, as I, the damned topic gets older than right.
I’ll refrain from preparing content for display
That is smelling like anything other than new.

Digital Douche

TheMagicRealist.com

This old bitch is cantankerous. Ain’t it a shame.
Just a month out of warranty and she’s broke down.
She’s as slow as molasses kept cold in the fridge.
She’s got time for herself, but for me, just a smidge.
She can trick and treat me as if I were a clown.
If she drove me to violence, I’d not be to blame.

I won’t go to the Geek Folk. They will take her side.
Like machine marriage counselors, they’ll give me guff.
They will give me a list of some steps I should take
To clean up her stack overflow. Give Me A Break!
I’m a Poet. I know not of digital stuff.
I will fidget with words, and in that, I take pride.

There are temp and %temp% folders that gather debris
That they tend to hold onto long after their use.
There are many bit pathways that clutter with crud
of a binary nature that’s somewhat like mud.
Earnest digital hygiene should greatly reduce
Her most disgusting sluggishness effectively.

My digits can’t get messy just messing with keys
And my well-fondled, hairless mouse by the firm hand.
When I program a flushing, I’d like a swoosh sound
To ensure that it isn’t just fooling around.
I detest slow computers and can’t understand
How they keep getting completely struck with disease.

From Starch to Finich

TheMagicRealist.com

Simple green plant of power so unique in taste
Is what country can stand for. It can’t stand alone.
All the world is a puzzle. Connected we are
To the people around us as well as afar.
Every misdeed recorded with someone’s smartphone
Becomes newsworthy worldwide with infinite haste.

We with symbols subconscious reflect who we are
Through the art we create taking popular form.
Every culture is breaded by things that it eats
And by how it sees others and how well it treats
Those of other opinions that stray from their norm.
Give a shout out to healthy greens and their bright star!

Though he can get defenskive when some folks complain
That his English is wiggity-whacked into place
So that young children listen, then practice mistakes.
Why not clean up your act a bit for goodness sakes!
When they then enter school… Oh, the problems they’ll face.
But to ask you to change would cause you undue pain.

Take a tip from a sailor who yam what he yam.
He ain’t axking nobody to butter his bread.
This is all I can stanza, but not like before.
I do love the nonsensical and could go for more.
There is plenty more foolishness coming to head.
Is the art of the artist to not give a damn?

The Remedy for Chronic Dipstick Drip

TheMagicRealist.com

Well maintained is the auto whose partner is versed
In the art of the oil check while at the pit stop.
If one has a good engine, one keeps it in shape.
He will not take a chance on a narrow escape.
The most versatile tool for garage or workshop
Is one’s dipstick, because if it’s not, he is cursed.

A sure thing about engine oil is it gets hot
To the touch – certainly if examined by hand.
So the stick is an interface withstanding heat.
Nothing else in the toolbox will ever compete
With the dipstick’s performance when adequately manned.
The engine who receives one may wish it had not.

But the graduate stick tends to drip when it’s dipped.
One should leave the thing in there while oil settles down.
Engine hygiene is paramount when checking oil.
If it is taken lightly, one welcomes turmoil.
Wipe it off, and if doing so brings on a frown,
Know that oil, in its essence, remains nondescript.

Silent Assed Letters

TheMagicRealist.com

If an actor is silent, why put him on stage?
I have heard of non-speaking parts. That’s not the point.
A good actor can get away with using mime
And may get more across to folks in much less time.
If performers don’t speak, their silence will anoint
The observer’s attention so that he’ll engage.

Let that bring us to letters… the ones that go mute
For a seemingly small set of words that are used.
Silent letters are assy. In fact, they’re a pain,
Though I’ve digested them with the ultra-mundane.
Almost half of the alphabet has been excused
Of a voice in some words. Are they there to be cute?

Well, they aren’t that adorable. Parsley they are
On a plate of potatoes and succulent meat,
Cast aside as the meal is completed, and then,
gathered up with the rubbish to not be again.
All the words that have placeholders playing discrete
Would do quite well without them, and they’d leave no scar.

What’s Up With ‘Won’t?’

TheMagicRealist.com, The Magic Realist, Magic Realism

There’s a surplus of ‘won’t’ but there is no ‘wo not.’
Why did no one explain this, when I was in school,
That there isn’t a ‘wo,’ really? It’s just a growth
From a disjointed history. Were they not both,
‘Will’ and ‘Not,’ as a pair, solved by judicial rule,
Then perhaps each raw litigant would have no plot.

How does ‘will’ become ‘wo?’ That’s what I’d like to know
Not that it makes a difference. I could get by
Without reaching the bottom of this inquiry.
How the ruling for ‘won’t’ was reached I’d like to see.
Who has judged this contraction the right one, and why?
Did some scene in a courtroom take place long ago?

In Old English, the verb ‘willan’ meant ‘wish’ or ‘will.’
It was ‘will’ in the present and ‘wold’ in the past (?)
Over centuries, too many forms of the two
Were used widely. Versions appeared out of the blue.
Some folks tried the word ‘willn’t.’ That shit didn’t last.
That is why frigging English is such a damned pill.

My Awareness of What Is

TheMagicRealist.com

My awareness of what is can keep myself stuck
On the roadway of life. It is hard to get past
All the sameness. Sometimes I can’t hear myself think.
My acquaintance with boredom could drive me to drink.
I detest holding patterns. How long will this last?
Since this happens to me, does it make my life suck?

I can tolerate traffic when we’re not in cars.
People seem to be not as quick to flip the bird.
Behind metal and glass, one might feel he kicks ass,
But in person, if you raise your fist, he will pass.
While on roadways, some nice folks are easily stirred
To brute force confrontation – but not while in bars.

Keep the mind off the hear and now, and on the road.
Do not look through the side windows at what is passed.
What’s ahead becomes now in the blink of an eye.
And what’s now becomes past fast. No one can deny.
I have tons of awareness – enough to outlast
Any standstill in life where I need not be towed.

A Box by Any Other Juke

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

Harvest Humans

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

Get Some Taurus In Uranus

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

No One’s Bible Is Libel

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

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

Barcode Overload

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

Abuse of the Mirror

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

Owe Me One, Then Owe Me

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

I Don’t Need A Damned Hero

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

From the Desk of D. Dudley Dickinworth

TheMagicRealist.com, The Magic Realist, Magic Realism

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

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

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

Better To Give Than Receive?

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

Knee Jerk Reaction

TheMagicRealist.com

Tally Ho! I’m the knee jerk. Although a day late,
I know you will forgive me because I’m a fool.
I react all the time – not just one day a year.
Everyday I make merry to mitigate fear.
I can be quite spontaneous but never cruel.
I believe foolishness is the cure for most hate.

If you think this is silly, you’re right, I must say.
I put much time and effort into what I do.
Does it make people chuckle? That, I’ll never know.
There’s no choice but to tread on and go with the flow.
If my ass ran away from me, I’d have no clue,
Because it dons no butt bell to give it away.

All I need is a good knee to utilize me.
Every knee jerk depends on a knee to perform.
I can spring into action, but never will sap
The insanity dormant beneath the knee cap.
It’s a pleasure to tap a good jolt to the norm
From the heart of the knee jerk who’s daft as can be.

To Forget Being Gotten

TheMagicRealist.com

If I need to be understood so I feel good,
Up the creek of the fecal and minus the oars
Would be I with my sorrow and deep seated fear
That I’m too odd a creature and don’t belong here.
When I don’t believe I’m the one who life ignores,
I am scaling the brick, and not knocking on wood.

Are my words so elusive that they don’t make sense
To the asshole majority? That’s fine with me.
They’re the same words that everyone uses. I just
Rearrange them in ways that are meaningful. Trust
That I came here, as all do, to live and to be
Plentiful in creating in full present tense.

I can’t get a damned thing that most rappers exude.
Most of it is a voyage, for me, to nowhere.
So, I don’t listen to them. That’s not ‘tit for tat.’
I’m an alien being, and no diplomat.
Should the gallery peanuts sound off, I don’t care.
One whose heart glows with passion cannot be subdued.

Homophonic Heteronymity

TheMagicRealist.com, The Magic Realist, Magic Realism

I had fear of the homophone right from the start.
Had I heard a thing of it, that would have been nice.
I was taught, as a child, of the word ‘homonym.’
Now, no one’s ever heard of it. Have I gone dim?
Could it be that my memory is imprecise?
Which came first with my schooling? The horse or the cart?

It seems Google remembers. This gives me some peace.
I would beg post-teen teachers to keep their acts straight.
That is, if I had nothing much better to do
Than pick nits with society and what is new.
As I keep to my own little world, I feel great.
I’ll admit to some old ways that I could release.

One may hire O’Glyphic or Heterophone
For the ones spoken most to and who listen well.
There may be some who heteroglyph their way home.
Homophonic profanity festers like foam.
When they’re making up new words, would someone please tell
The old retroverse wordsmith adrift on his own?

Bizarre Pharma Dharma

TheMagicRealist.com

A life filled with bright color begins with child’s play.
That which makes the heart happy is sweet to the taste.
If the medicine tastes good, then I can believe
It will do what it’s made to do. Do I achieve
Any measure of some relief? Or, do I waste
Much of my motion hoping that meds are the way?

I need something for gut clog – a lethal depth charge
That will blast the pipes thorough of resident waste.
The condition is common, the symptoms as well.
They’re enough to debilitate and make life hell.
Yet, despite indications that aren’t to my taste
I seek help from beyond self… from ‘oneness’ at large.

All the fine meds available are much the same,
As they boast full relief from what ails me the most.
But the symptoms they claim that will then go away
Are the same as the side effects, to my dismay.
Should I therefore proclaim that my innards are toast?
That would be utter nonsense, and worse, a damned shame.

Talking Oneself Off the Ledge

TheMagicRealist.com

I am told life is precious, including my own,
By behavioral science and men of the cloth,
But not by those who would leave me out on the ledge.
It is up to me only. To thy own self pledge
To remember the big picture – not the thin swath.
Any vision from that space is fear overgrown.

 I may long for the tunnel, then pure loving light
That I don’t seem to find here in this blurry realm.
What I see down below me I don’t want to face.
Down there needs not another. It would be disgrace
To give up such a fine face to life overwhelm.
What if I suffered greatly? That would kind of bite.

That is hardly the point, though. There are many ways
One may take matters drastically into one’s hands.
There are things about living that I may despise,
And my focus on those things would be my demise
Had I not a defense for life’s unmet demands.
There’s no hope in the pavement. There’s no need to gaze.

Passive Retentive Anal Aggressive

TheMagicRealist.com

I am not anal, doctor. I wipe only once.
And that one time is surely enough, I would say,
Because I do things thoroughly, taking my time
To make sure all is tidy and absent of grime.
I would say I’m fastidious. That sounds OK.
When you say that I’m anal, I feel like a dunce.

Often passive retentive, I keep to my own
Little world of becoming. I seek no advice
To propel me through some worldly crisis, you see.
I just come to you because that way I can be
Most flamboyant with my deepest secrets. It’s nice
To soul dump on some stranger who is judgement prone.

So, what else can you tell me, aggressive assed one?
I am ready to hear all that you have to say.
I know Freud was a coke head and mental blacksmith.
Let us cut to the chase and get rugged forthwith.
Playing with this absurdity brightens my day.
When I’m bored with my dull life, I see you for fun.

The Hell Out Of Dodge

TheMagicRealist.com

Let us talk about Dodge again. It’s a nice place.
Though I haven’t quite been there, nearby is OK.
Though I think of disaster when this town is named,
It has no more than elsewhere. So why is it famed
As some hell to depart from and get far away?
I do wonder if people there live in disgrace.

‘Get the Hell out of Dodge!’ It’s expressive, in ways,
Of the chaos that comes with the limits of speech.
We can color the notions of panic and fear
With illogical thoughtforms that aren’t very clear.
We adopt our weird sayings, though often we reach
Some acute understanding amid verbal haze.

Dodge is fine, I would hope, and its residents too.
They would have to have long gotten over this joke.
When one needs to get out of someplace really fast,
No particular city should ever be cast
In a cloak of obscurity. We owe these folk
Some relief from our warped ways. It’s long overdue.

Snarklingate

TheMagicRealist.com, The Magic Realist, Magic Realism

I am not quite a hermit cat. I need no shell
But the air that surrounds me in sparkling sunlight.
If I blink my eyes thrice, I know they are still there.
And my little ones love me, as for them I care.
It is nice basking freely. My future is bright.
I have taken this bird’s nest. Within it I dwell.

Did they leave rather peacefully – those that were here?
Or did they see us coming and fly fast away?
Heaven knows. My concern is with moving about
In a world where I freely determine my clout.
If they’d stayed, I’d have eaten them. That’s just the way
I behave with my feathered friends. I am sincere.

For now, I am content. I do purr with the best
From a humble twig dwelling that’s fit for a king.
If I tweeted or meowed, they would both sound the same.
Whether singing or winging, all life is a game.
I do either or both as I do my own thing.
I have not much regard for the feathered oppressed.

Where The Heck Is That Product Key?

TheMagicRealist.com

I’ve become like a hound dog, and that’s not my style.
I’m in search of my product key, therefore, I’m hot
On the trail of a wild goose located somewhere
Underneath my computer. But it is not there.
If it smelled of some number, that would help a lot.
If I don’t find the damned thing, I’m stuck for a while.

That the product key matters is easy to see.
The need is most obvious to those who make
Software products, to keep the game played fair and square.
But if I lose track of one, then I can beware.
There’s a hell one must go through who makes that mistake.
If I contact the seller, he’d likely agree.

Keep your product key copied and stashed everywhere,
But nowhere near your passwords or favorite bookmarks.
That way if you lose it, it is everywhere found.
If the computer crashes, then you won’t feel bound.
Simply having technology too often sparks
More entanglement than I can easily bear.

Bless Every Damned Thing!

TheMagicRealist.com

What the hell can I do but bless every damned thing?
I can’t beat the sick bastards. They’re nowhere in reach.
If I hold a stiff grudge against that which I hate,
My heart welcomes disease, and then death is my fate.
All the hate that’s around me is ready to teach
Me that what I give focus to, this life will bring.

All the crap that is wrong with this life I must leave
At the doorstep of doom where it rightly belongs.
Every sap sucking asshole who’s dead or alive
Gives me reason to know if I chose to deprive
Myself of true alignment that rights many wrongs
Of my world, I’d be less in a space to achieve.

Bless the whole screwed up world. It must matter to me
That I keep myself happy instead of damned right.
Every crotchety bitch and demented old man
Surely got that way thinking that they were less than,
So that now they are ready to take full delight
In expressing disgruntlement most artfully.

I Need You Right Now

TheMagicRealist.com

I am needing you now, friend. I’ve no time to waste
Standing here watching you grow. It’s been a few days.
Do you not know your purpose? Well, I do know mine.
I must have supper ready so my guests can dine.
Will you speed up your growth rate? I’m sure you have ways
Of placating my arrogance and will misplaced.

If you won’t grow, we’ll eat you, as small as you are.
Is it better to trip than to keep a straight head?
Mine’s screwed on right, but yours seems arrested in place.
I can’t feed my folks folly. It’s you they embrace.
Could I serve them your roots in a light tea instead?
Grow up NOW, errant seedling! Don’t act so bizarre.

It’s a fact that I need you now only because
I give you my attention too much of the time.
Any seed that I plant now will take time to grow.
That all time is eternal is helpful to know.
In the meantime, my patience is rendered sublime.
I can give up my tweaking of natural laws.