Tag Archive | humorous

Tight Slap

How Dare You!

“What would be called a Tight Slap is one that’s not loose,”
One would say who receives one from out of the blue
On a pleasant day when everything should be fine.
If I come off in error, do give me a sign
Other than a swift zinger. I have not a clue
What I’ve done to deserve this outrageous abuse.

Often times I’m well-mannered. Sometimes I’m a slave
To the sweat beast within me. Control I have not.
Can the creature of true heart be blamed for his act?
To survive a blind gesture with eyeballs intact
Is a fool’s expectation. I don’t fret a lot.
But I do take account for the way I behave.

 You are not my own flower, nor fruit from my tree.
I don’t have my own garden. People are not plants.
Knowledge comes as a Tight Slap upside the manhood
So that it’s maintained and forever understood.
Wisdom is abundant in any circumstance.
One does not need the Tight Slap to properly see.

Mating Call

Audition

Would you care, my fair dumpling, to chat for a while?
That my magnetic presence is drawn close to you
Is a blessing of nature. May I look your way?
It would be so delightful and would make our day
More than it could be otherwise. My heart is true
Even though there may be something odd with my style.

If you don’t salivate ‘til the third or fourth date
I can well understand that. Fear not that I may
Become over persistent or underperformed.
I am drawn to conditions where my faith is warmed.
I believe I can win your heart with what I say.
You may find that it’s worthwhile, and that would be great.

Take a chance with me, darling. I can’t let you down.
I myself have been lower than most dudes can get.
But what keeps my heart thumping is thinking I’m cool
So much so that I’m willing to act like a fool
That I might earn the chance of becoming your pet.
In a very short while, I can invert that frown.

Why Is The Universe So… Busy?

The Apparent Complexity of the Universe

There’s a unit called Planck Length. To say that it’s small
Is like saying the sun is a fairly hot place.
If a Planck Unit measured one hair’s width in size
It would be half the galaxy to our surprise!
Things take place on that scale that the mind can’t embrace
Yet that does not deter us from trying at all.

Everything started out small, then got really big.
Even now, all accelerates at greater speed
Toward an infinite bigness from one tiny speck.
So, it has to stay busy. Or else, what the heck?
Our quantum exploration is born of the need
To crawl onto the branches and reach for the twig.

All of matter is made of electrons and quarks.
Electrons are identical. All are the same.
Quarks do not act in ways one can clearly predict.
Any rules that they may obey aren’t very strict.
On the Planck scale, it seems existence is a game
But it’s played in the grandest of cosmic theme parks.

At light speed, basic particles travel about
In their orbits. They disappear and reappear
And exist in a few places at the same time.
But, at large, in the universe, this is a crime.
We can see, quantum criminals do make it clear
There’s a whole lot of busy and just as much doubt.

Bless Me, Father…

Innocent Trust

Can you please bless me, father, for I may have sinned.
Though this ain’t no confessional, is this ok?
I don’t like that small, dark room. It gives me the creeps.
I know you’ll hear my secrets and guard them for keeps.
Your ears are big enough for what I have to say.
If I told my dear mommy, I’d have my butt skinned.

I stole cash from the sofa and bought bubble gum.
That might not be a big thing… but maybe to God
It’s a deep moral crisis. Will I go to hell?
Since you are like my daddy, perhaps you can tell
If my wicked behavior is something most odd.
I cannot put the money back where it came from.

I’m not really a bad kid. Sometimes I explore
What I think may be safe to. Then I will feel guilt.
Does it mean that I’m guilty for having the thought
Of pursuing the taste of the gum that I bought?
Can you help me with how good character is built?
Such profound introspection I’ve not felt before.

Kindly bless me, dear father. I won’t sin no more.
Would my parents forgive me? Could I take that chance?
You and God are good buddies. My sore little brain
Cannot handle the concepts of profit and gain.
I don’t have an asset that I can refinance
Nor a coin in my pocket. Does this mean I’m poor?

The Urinator

Cyborg Infancy

Babies weaponize urine. They aim for the face
So you must don yourself with tough ruggedized steel
Treated with naval jelly to mitigate rust.
Keep your eye on them always. It’s wise to mistrust
Their benign seeming natures. Pure wrath they conceal.
They can piss in a heartbeat and in any place.

Pampers will not contain them. They’ll rip them right off
And then sling the wet missile at something worthwhile
Like a lamp or a knickknack or one of your pets.
Pampers should come with padlocks to quell our regrets.
They will piss in your porridge, then look up and smile.
People do need to touch them. At that I would scoff.

Robo babies are rugged and pee like it’s fun.
There’s no sense of restraint in their wild little hearts
Nor their energized bladders. How do we survive?
We must love them completely so that they will thrive.
All good parents are versed in the wet baby arts.
It may seem that the warfare will never be done.

Die Hard

Hard Unto Death

I would want to die easy but never dead limp
To the cause of excitement resulting in me.
Rigor mortis precludes dying soft, as it were.
Though the root is no joint, hardness it would prefer
Pointing skyward, honoring what life gave for free.
My last moments demand not on passion I’ll scrimp.

To be cast of a hard mold indicatively
Is hardly not the easiest tribute to give.
Would it be worth the effort to stay well prepared?
Only lack of good stimuli should make one scared.
It may be hard to Die Hard as it is to live.
May the dick, upon dying, remain quite sturdy.

To Die Hard is made easy as passion remains
My most firm source of guidance. May I leave behind
Something pointing to something that makes some small sense
To some set of some subset of some reference.
Intercourse of all nature takes place in the mind.
Any action perceived, the erect soul explains.

Ride The Bull

Primal Motion

You say your stock’s been down?
That’s why you’re wearing a frown?
Your meager money market venture just took a dive?
You didn’t plan it this way.
No one will come to save the day.
It’s up to your devices alone now to truly survive.

Maybe I’ll be there to ride the bull.
Maybe I’ll be there to act like a fool.
Foolishness is a thing that we can all do together.
Maybe I’ll be there to ride the bull.
Maybe I’ll be there to act like a fool.
So, grab hold of the bull in stormy or sunny weather.

You’ve been watching all the network news.
It’s kind of gotten you to singing the blues.
The more you know, the chances are that you can’t get a clue.
The country burns in purgatory.
Who will come to set us all free?
Well, there isn’t very much right now that we can do.

Maybe people think that life is cool.
Maybe they don’t know the golden rule.
Foolishness is a thing that we can all do together.
Maybe I’ll be there to ride the bull.
Maybe I’ll be there to act like a fool.
So, grab hold of the bull in stormy or sunny weather.

Piss Like A Man!

Ill-perceived Manliness

If a man sits to piss, it insults his manhood.
Don’t behave like a sissy. Respect your damned ass!
Even if you’re an old man, do not lazily
Plop that ass on a toilet to just take a pee.
You can drain the mad bladder and do so with class
If committed to standing. This does a man good.

Why is this so important? Good posture is why.
Men must take on the attitude of feeling tall.
That can’t happen while sitting. You’ll feel like a bitch.
Pubic hair remains covered to prevent crotch itch
While you’re standing with hand braced against the hard wall.
You can’t piss with a hard on, so don’t even try.

Men, stand up to your manhood with dick firm in hand!
If you’re sitting while pissing, how can you feel proud?
What if something emergent occurred in such state?
You’d be caught with your pants down. It would have to wait.
Let a urinal see how well you are endowed.
Keep your ass perpendicular to the flat land.

Scientists Do Bizarre Things

Benign Insanity

Can one dissect existence down to the last clue
To a firm understanding of how life evolves?
Can the physicist smash enough atoms to gain
Sub-particulate knowledge to blow up the brain?
Anything that is physical the mind resolves
With experimentation and intent askew.

Somewhat like the Aghori, most science folk are
Absolute in their outlook, not trapped in the ways
Psychological processes obscure their path.
That’s why they must be savvy also at heart math.
Is what they do to lab creatures worthy of praise?
Or has our rabid culture evolved way too far?

To encompass the universe in its fullness
There must be people willing to expand their minds
To a size that approaches the infinite realm.
Is it wise then to have scientists at the helm
Of our ship in the sea with creatures of all kinds?
Just so they keep to themselves. Their minds are a mess!

How Yogis Know

Ancient Wisdom

What’s it like to be human? A yogi knows well.
Our bodies are made up of but just a few layers.
They are interconnected. The cell’s DNA
Holds a wealth of intelligence. Each can convey
That to us in a manner that answers our prayers.
Those who don’t feel quite human, in error they dwell.

And indeed there are pathways – some tens of thousands.
Major energy centers connect the body
To that which is nonphysical. No time or place
Is what we have emerged from. We’re here by the grace
Of the infinite cosmos. That’s how yogis see.
It is in one’s best seeing that one understands.

We exist within cycles, and as we evolve
From concerns of survival, then naturally,
We become more perceptive of much higher things.
When the breathing is slowed down, the inaction brings
On awareness of all things the eyes cannot see.
The ego becomes useless. It then may dissolve.

Independence

Much More Time Than a Life

A dick dipped in molasses attracts oral sex
But from creepy creatures not concerned with one’s meat.
…Odd that people don’t get that. They’re doomed to dick dip
Into exotic substances. Good dickmanship
Means that one keeps one’s dick not averse to retreat
From the sky burst of color to pay due respects.

As all patriots do on the fourth of July
I will spend some time watching the fireworks display.
Many times before, I celebrated with pride.
But today, somehow, pride in my country has died.
I don’t care what’s been happening nor what folks say
About just about anything. My, What A Sky!

It’s just my way of bitching. It’s but a few sense.
To pay much more attention to this would be great!
Living colorful powder may light up my sky.
I must know that I’m willing to live, do or die,
Through the elegant chaos that we recreate
As the clock tick defining offense and defense.

How One Takes It

Sensory and Cognitive Overload

How do I take what’s given me, asked for or not?
To take things as an insult is not the best way
To make friends and influence folks. I’d rather be
As neutral in my taking as I can best see
The benign verbal nuance in what people say
As but ripe for a mental chuckle, then forgot.

People may assume I take things a certain way.
I can hear the inflection ascend toward the end
Of the utterance, therefore I safely conclude
They’re just asking the question. They’re not being rude.
In such case, there is nothing that I need defend.
I can then leave in peace and get on with my day.

If an amateur poet with no training can
Push those details aside and continue to write
In a manner consistent, I will take that black
With a lump of fulfillment to keep me on track.
How I take life’s assignment may look like a fight
Yet it seems to fit into someone’s divine plan.

Left Nut News

Absurdity of Cyclic News

One gets news from an old fart when one is convinced
That Old Fart News is flawless by virtue of age.
Some tune into world happenings via the net
With smartphones or their laptops or some other threat.
When news causes either nausea or outrage,
I then know what it feels like to have my nuts minced.

I’m aware it’s the right nut I care less about.
It hangs well on its right side and is of less worth
Although just a tad higher. My concern is with
The forsaken left-nutted who seem but a myth.
Minor to what is major and mired in dearth,
The left nut remains hopeful yet haunted by doubt.

I take news on the left nut with no grain of salt.
Not quite like bread and butter or milk and money,
Left Nut News is of service to flesh roots of grass.
I’ll stand up to the right nut but not kick its ass.
I’m a class act, as most other organs may see
If they are made for seeing, but not to a fault.

The Definition Of Is

A caricature of Clinton, the master sophist

The past tense of will be is the now tense of was
When is has the same meaning as is always has.
Although is is of present tense, is can get past
The court of raw opinion. Need one be aghast
By how words can be worm like? Much in as much as
Is is ripe for discussion, is fits in our laws.

As is was in the first place, is is as it’s been.
Is can be unspecific and tricky a verb
When used just in the right way spoken with a tongue
Impregnated with quicksilver mixed well with dung.
If is isn’t the issue, why should is perturb
Anyone if it’s used as a tool now and then?

 Is is as it is because is always will be
Though it can’t be until is is something perceived
As a thing of some essence imagined or real.
There is something within is no sense can reveal.
When an air of confusion is rightly achieved,
The is who’s most important turns out to be me.

Re-Walk-In

Etherality Of Existence

I’ve walked out of this life many times, I must say,
Thinking each time I’ll never see this one again.
I’ll expect I’ll walk into another life, but
I’ll find soon that I’ve entered the same frigging rut.
I’d be happy if I could forget where I’d been
Until I’d reached the point where I don’t want to stay.

Yes, I’ve heard about Walk-In’s. I think it is strange
That some soul on the rebound would want to enter
Someone’s hell of a half-life. Can spirits go mad?
Or are they simply willing to be a comrade
To the soul in a tailspin? Indeed, I’d prefer
Infinite horizons as I wander free range.

Could I make this a boring life? I could well try.
How much effort it would take depends not upon
Anyone who may share my most chaotic realm,
But upon my perceiving, in life’s overwhelm,
The life I must walk into, come hell or new dawn.
As I re-enter this life, need I wonder why?

On Accepting The Dickhead

Love Your Enemies

Many people I judge ‘bad’ in some kind of way.
It’s said most of us are this way. Could it be true
That all people aren’t angels? Some are dangerous!
Most I don’t have to deal with, but is that a plus?
Those I do have some contact with can put me through
An acute anal throbbing that fucks with my day.

Why can’t I just accept them? Why not just “say yes”
Like the mouse to the mouse trap before it steps in?
That, of course, is not easy. It does take much work
To get myself to where I can love any jerk.
If I still curse them mentally, is that a sin?
If it is, then I guess I’ve got shit to confess.

Or I could take their skin off so they better feel
Everything that I’m feeling so they keep their place.
Would they become more sensitive? Probably so.
If my thick skin were missing, surely I would know
A deep sense of intensity and teeming grace.
The empowering freedom does pique my appeal.

Maybe I can achieve this most fortunate state
Of assurance that all things are as they should be.
I may be overwhelmed, at first, but I’ll succeed.
A reorganization will happen, indeed.
Would the act of rebalancing rectify me?
I may yet curse the bastards, and it will feel great!

Is It Just A Machine?

TheMagicRealist.com

Is it just a machine? Or does it know something
That all things alive seem to have some knowledge of?
It’s a question some people ask. Others ask why
One would question in silly ways. Were they to try
To explore just a bit more, perhaps they’d find love.
Contemplating existence will contentment bring.

Single-sized, simple cellular suspended in
Spatial substance surrounding it, it has its plan
As any individual self-declared whole.
Does the cell have a conscience and perhaps a soul?
It does seem quite the team player. Indeed, it can
Follow orders efficiently with no chagrin.

When one looks at the cell’s life, one must then admit
That it does bare resemblance to those of us all.
Our behaviors may differ in obvious ways.
Ways in which we are similar deserve some praise.
If we can’t be more cell-like, are we thinking small?
If they dislike their boss, they can’t just up and quit.

From Yogi to Guru

TheMagicRealist.com

I was told that a guru can digest a rock
By someone who once watched one do such a strange thing.
As my friend kept on watching, he noticed not much
But occasional chanting and belching and such.
When the guru had finished, no clue did it bring
To all those who’d beheld him. So, they felt no shock.

His disciples believed him. That’s what it must take
For the vibrant thought process to breathe on its own.
One makes magic of matter to one’s own delight.
If we want to learn how to, we seek one who’s right
But the right one, we know, cannot sit on a throne.
Kings cannot become teachers. They are not awake.

Rocks are not hard to digest if you’re a guru.
It is harder to sit cross-legged upon one.
Yogis are to their gurus as ebb is to flow.
Is it in both their interests to thoroughly know
Where each other has traveled since life had begun?
It may not be. It may be that much is untrue.

Corn Off The Cob

TheMagicRealist.con

I’ve got ding for your hum. Because I’m not a bum,
I can hum ding most ringers around a horseshoe.
If my ding don’t feel funny, should I contemplate
A new day job apparently due to my fate?
I could do what most cobs are expected to do.
If I did so, though, I’d be mistaken for scum.

Being bright yellow brilliance, no problem have I
Acting like I’m pure sunlight reflecting the glow
That surrounds me whenever I’m feeling my best.
I don’t fret being popped or steamed, so I’m not stressed.
Were I used in a foul way, I’d care not to know.
I embellish my prime where the sun meets the sky.

I am sworn to be corny and free to, with glee,
Pull the string on a plaything as if it were nice
To be feisty in hindsight of good chances missed.
Yet, if you are not into this, I will persist.
It’s enough for right now, so I’ll keep this concise.
My delighting in wordplay is not just for me.

Who Or What Is God?

TheMagicRealist.com

That the soul can be sacred one can take to heart
On a good day when nothing disturbs inner peace.
But how can then the body be weak and unclean?
How can God be supreme but creation obscene?
Labored in observation, the mind grows obese.
We believe in creation, it seems, from the start.

So much happened before me. Now that I am here
I assume all I see here was made by someone
Who’s much bigger than I am. Does that make much sense?
If but through spontaneity all did commence
Then what difference would it make if I were to shun
Any faith in a deity and cling to fear?

God is black because I’m black. He’s white if I’m white.
And if one asks a woman, she says he’s a she.
Dogs would say God’s a Big Dog whose bark is the law.
With one paw on a biscuit, they’d raise their right paw
And declare that all humans were put here to be
But a curious nuisance… at times, a delight.

God, like self, is unknowable while in this form.
It is oneself exaggerated to the max.
Yet we cannot define it nor understand it.
We can only experience as we see fit.
By dissolving into it we learn to relax.
Seeking self-dissolution evolves as our norm.

Is This Site Using Cookies?

TheMagicRealist.com

Is This Site Using Cookies? They claim to be smart
But not as smart as I am. No text file can be.
Were that so, then my writing would be at its worst.
So, attention to content must always come first.
I do eat cookies, but they’re no big part of me.
I take info from no one. It’s not in my heart.

Cookies are, though, a good thing, if used the right way…
Not to discern your habits to target you more
But to make things convenient while cruising online.
Things like shopping cart contents and such are just fine
If your online adventure, in fact, is a store.
I have nothing to sell you but part of my day.

I am not yet a monster, but hunger I feel
To record with expression what stirs in my soul.
Surely it is consumable and of good taste.
Someday, I may need cookies. Right now, they’re a waste
Of the energy I would devote to the whole
Of my sole driving purpose that I here reveal.

Click-A-Mole

TheMagicRealist.com

Nowadays, we don’t whack ‘em. We click ‘em instead.
The moles consist of images placed on the screen.
They are put there by fisher-folk trolling for clicks
With pop-ups and page-unders and digital tricks.
If not fast enough, what I see becomes unseen
Just before I can click it. This fucks with my head.

It is not that my hand freezes up in the cold.
Is it that my reflexes are not up to par
That I don’t double click well enough to command
My own space with efficiency? I understand
That the slightest mouse movement while clicking will bar
An inkling of an outcome. Indeed, I’ve grown old.

My eyes are now the pointer. The mouse takes a break
From its small, cheesy movement upon the mouse pad.
I am yet the observer… the screen, a portal
To the sea of believing in all things mortal.
That we’ve made such a game of life, I should be glad.
Games are made for all children. We play for their sake.

I’m A Stein – Damn It!

TheMagicRealist.com

I’m a Stein – not a Steen! I don’t mean to get mean
But, dog gone it, it’s high time you got my name right!
People tend to get careless and lazy with names.
Do you strive to be ignorant with silly games?
If I mispronounced your name, would you want to fight?
Names are special to people. Don’t make them obscene!

I’m a Stein, and that’s fine! So, don’t give me no guff.
There are manifold Steins populating this earth.
There are Feinsteins and Einsteins and stand alone Steins.
We have first names and middle names. These are clear signs
That the surname containing Stein at someone’s birth
Does not sound like the name Steen. Have I said enough?

The name Steen rhymes with teen. Can’t you honor that fact?
It ain’t like you can’t hear straight. Am I making sense?
Do not make me a Steen since that’s not what I am.
My name is not a plaything. Why not give a damn?
Please don’t pamper your clumsiness at my expense.
Disrespect can be subtle, with lasting impact.

Atra Feed

TheMagicRealist.com

You need feed for your atra? We go it right here!
It don’t make sense to get it from those other guys.
They will charge you a fortune, and what you will get
Is a crapload of something that you may regret.
We’ve the best feed, and this is our word to the wise –
If you’ve got lots of atra to feed, never fear!

We’ve been in the feed business purt-neer forty years.
Never once have we failed to deliver the best
Any atra could hope for. For that, we are proud.
We remain down to earth, though – not high on a cloud.
It’s your atra. You shouldn’t put them through a test
Just to prove our point seemingly as it appears.

Treat your atra with dignity. They deserve more
Than what is made available. Feed them with care.
They will grow to full atrahood. In the meanwhile,
You may show to your atra a confident smile.
What you feed to your atra is your own affair.
But for their sake, why not head on out to our store?

Osiris, On Papyrus

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

Ain’t Say Onofre

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

Cursed Out By A Cursor

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

Asleep At The Urinal

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

Death Of A Pixel

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

The Thirst Of Theodore Thlitlinger

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

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

Bowel Tetris

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

Sicker Hickory Dock

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

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

Mow The Grass, Tyson!

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

God And The Scientists

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

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

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

A Man And The Electric Chair

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

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

Paranormalcy And The Pranks Of Spirit

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

Your Drink And Two Dances

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

A God We Can Trust

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

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?