Tag Archive | humorous

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.

Better Business

TheMagicRealist.com

“Nine to Ninety-Nine Business Weeks, Sir!” That’s how long
It will take to respond to your urgent request.
Please bend over until about ninety degrees
So when we stick it to you, we’ll do it with ease.
If you want to complain to us, then be our guest.
We don’t post contact info, though that may be wrong.

Say you’ve dropped your bJesus card on the rail track?
That is how we perceive it. Did we get that right?
Well, we’ll send you another. But, Oh, by the way,
You’ll incur some discomfort and maybe dismay.
You’re a fuck up, dear customer… and not too bright.
Let us put you on hold, sir, then we’ll be right back.

…Oh, did we disconnect you? We’re sorry. Please know
That our job is to Serve you. We do that our best
From a call center ten thousand miles far away,
And through thick scripted accents programmed to convey
Only policy… most often mocking the stressed.
We do value your business like piss in the snow.

Self Help Solution

TheMagicRealist.com

Oh, Go drink yourself sloppily! I’ve had enough
Of your running your circles around the fun park.
I am here to make merry – not here to make do
With a sense of self less than the sky is bright blue.
Though I’m not that Olympian, I make my mark
By my pumping out powerful poetic stuff.

All black men think they’re poets.’ Is such a remark,
In its absence of meaning, a mental workout
For the one who receives it? It does put a cramp
In my mind for a mile. Will I emerge a champ?
I make meaning of whatever I think much about.
If I think about bullshit, my outlook is dark.

So, I write of the fecal, as it falls my way.
That is not quite as often as one might perceive.
I’m an athlete. My well-crafted body is made
With some knack for the verbal, although I’m a spade.
If I cared about what others care to believe,
I’d be lost in a theme park with no will to play.

The Blissful Behind

TheMagicRealist.com

The most blissful behind has not much on his mind.
That he has one is kind of a nuisance to him.
So he keeps the thing quiet. Most anyone can.
It takes some time and practice for woman or man.
Draw your shades, take your shoes off and make the lights dim.
As you do this more often, folks think you’re refined.

There is no one more kind than a blissful behind.
And quite by the same token, assholes are a pain –
Not in theirs but in mine. I must keep those away
Who would treat me unkindly and dare ruin my day.
As I meditate often, I’ve so much to gain.
I was meant to be loving, trustworthy and kind.

I’m no stranger to chaos. That’s why I must take
A brief time-out to let the old mind take a drain.
It’s a nice tool for bridge building. That’s a good thing.
But it needs counterbalance and soft nurturing.
If my behind can’t get it, I may feel the pain
For my being too negligent for my own sake.

Shitweed

TheMagicRealist.com

I do know why you’ve stopped me, dear officer, sir.
Your expression of disgust speaks louder than words.
Yet you need not concern yourself with all the smoke
As this weed that I’ve got here is truly a joke.
I have smoked lots of pot, but this stuff’s for the birds.
Take a toke for yourself. I’m sure you will concur.

What is up with good weed these days? It’s hard to find
And then when it is found one must pay due respect
To the in-between bastards who break the shit down.
I’ve been getting my stash, these days, from folks uptown.
I’ve smoked three joints, by now, but alas… no effect.
So, don’t bust me because I still have all my mind.

I’ve been smoking this shitweed. No good stuff have I
And it’s been that way always. I haven’t felt great
Since I visited Thailand some decades ago.
Their good shit got me wasted and moving quite slow.
So it’s not like I’m moving fine goods across state.
This old rotgut for pot here is not worth the try.

The Best Cure For Toe Fungus?

TheMagicRealist.com

Let us talk about toes – yours alone, by the way,
And that fungus they’re fettered with. You know it well.
Who am I to send email to you with advice
Randomly about getting your feet smelling nice?
Well, I must be an asshole. Most people can tell
By the sheer lack of meaning in what I dare say.

It seems, now, that my inbox and spam box are twins
Who play offense with insults and off-the-wall crud.
I’m a fish in this ocean. As you cast your net
Most escape by derision. You get what you get
When you’re dragging your lines way too deep in the mud.
What would you like to sell me as my patience thins?

You assume I have fungus as if the world knows
I’m a registered specimen stripped of his rights.
That’s not even the case. Where the Hell are you from?
You sneaked into my inbox like some kind of bum.
Yet, I’d be but a fool if my temper ignites.
I know no one but me is in touch with my toes.

Lorem Ipsum

TheMagicRealist.com

What The Uckfay? I say in the odd-Latin way.
I don’t mean to hijack it to make verses rhyme.
But it’s there for my use if I need it. So what
If it’s triggered by language that fills in the rut
Of precise advertising for use anytime
When there’s dummy space needed for nothing to say?

Language is quite the dinosaur. It has it’s way
Of remaining quite cryptic in how it’s conceived
Over eons, although it can easily be
A most elegant means by which people can see
Deeper meaning in what all agree is perceived
As reality and what makes for a good day.

If the notion of dummy text makes any sense
It may come as an insult to folks of my kind.
Words can shoot from a fire hose or someone’s pen.
If we piss off all poets, what will happen then?
It should not get my strength nor my will misaligned.
There are text pumps afoot. I shall not take offense.

Now That I Can Tweet

TheMagicRealist.com

Do you love me sincerely now that I can tweet?
I’ve been practicing steadily all just for you.
I can twitter my ass off and do every day.
Many twits do this also with not much to say.
Can my fistful of characters offer some clue
To the ones that I’m tweeting to whereof I greet?

Watch me now, as they say. With the swipe of the thumb
I can instigate mischief or shed light on truth.
Within moments the world knows what I want it to
And it doesn’t take much to show others my view.
It would work out much better were I in my youth
But in light of all that I can tweet like the scum.

I can tweet with the best now and also the worst
As I learn to parse giblets of thought into place
So that dim-witted twit folk can follow along.
I can tweet like a mother, so don’t get me wrong.
I shall stock up on bird feed for now just in case
I’m elected Top Twit. Now, that would be a first.

Plight Of The Pink Pickled Pine Pecker

TheMagicRealist.com

Is this pecker endangered? Then who is at fault?
Neither nature nor scientist should take the blame
For the swift disappearance of this pickled bird.
Perhaps they somehow felt this world is too absurd
Then decided to vanish. We’re left with the name
Of this odd-fellowed creature whom we may exalt.

Every pine pecker present and those who are not
Have an interest in living their lives left alone.
They don’t like being tagged and implanted with junk.
It seems we are their ET’s. This may not be bunk.
They survive our abductions and often they’re shown
A pure side of humanity with a kind plot.

Yes, the Pink Pickled Pine Pecker was on the list
And they knew it. That’s why they decided to split.
They said, “Leave us in peace. We just want to move on
And find somewhere to hide so you think we are gone!”

This makes good sense from their point of view. Doesn’t it?
If we had creatures watching us, we would be pissed!

 

A License To Sell Hotdogs?

TheMagicRealist.com

How to let a man know his pant zipper is down…?
One might tell him discretely by asking him this –
“Sir, do you have a license for selling hotdogs?
If you don’t then, my goodness! Your fit for the hogs!”

If he tells you he does have one should one dismiss
All the spewing and twittering all about town?

What’s the mark of a man these days? It’s hard to tell.
Male birds often get cocky and frequently bitch
Over females and who gets to strut upon stage.
When things don’t go their way they will blurt out in rage.
And perhaps our worst women would be a safe switch
From the men now whose governance makes of life hell.

Someone’s given the duck every right to hotdog
His way brazenly through history with his pants
By now half past his knees because of the big bulge
In his background and of things he’ll never divulge.
Manhood licensing yields but a grim circumstance
And the women forthcoming will clear up much fog.

Kicked Right Out Of Dreamland

TheMagicRealist.com

I was sound asleep though I was covered in sweat
As my body turned clockwise while wrapped in its sheets
Of bewilderment as my soul went on a trip
To that wonderful dreamland where I can equip
Myself with all its graces and spiritual treats
That my sleeping and dreaming most often beget.

I remained for a good while although there’s no time
In a world of pure thought-form and nowhere to dump
All the tension I’ve mustered throughout the long day.
I found out there’s no dumping. I did disobey
The most cardinal rule there: Do Not leave your clump
In this mental world.
And their directive is prime!

I’ve been kicked in the rear end. So now I’m awake.
I’m afraid to go back there or even to try.
They might block my arrival and give me what-for.
I’m not feeling distressed that I didn’t dream more.
I shall start my day now as I breathe a deep sigh.
I am not banned forever, thus I have my cake.

Whose Skills Are A Mazing?

TheMagicRealist.com

Just whose skills are a mazing? They wouldn’t be mine.
I’ve a watertight alibi. I was in space
At the time those weird circles appeared in your fields.
So don’t blame them on me. My benign talent yields
Not a blanket of mischief with straight poker face
Nor the purpose to brand the earth with my design.

Someone messed with those images – every damned one!
Either that or the aliens are drinking tea
Made from mushrooms from cow patties beamed to their ships
Then distilled and digested well so that their trips
Are as freaky as no human tripping could be.
Then perhaps they are ready to have some real fun.

It’s a big tick-tack-toe game they play from the sky
Or from people’s computers. Whichever the case,
People’s skills can be alien in many ways.
And somewhere in it all there’s a big need for praise.
When caught spewing their markers all over the place
It would be fascinating to hear from them why.

Animostic Anathameme

TheMagicRealist.com

There are bitch and male witches atop the food chain.
Master Chemists are they with the worth of the earth
Well transfigured into wealth to shore up control.
Could it be that an earth witch assumes such a role?
Such were burnt at one time. Could this be a rebirth?
I should think not about this. It drives me insane.

Enough YouTube for me… Such a cauldron of mist
From the gist of the troubled belabored of lore.
All kinds of witchcraft have been practiced since time
Immemorial. We constitute the enzyme
That enables the chemist to conjure up more
Of whatever will keep people confused and pissed.

It’s alchemical warfare of spiritual base.
There may be plans made for us. Who gives a rat’s ass?
We could round up all witches and set them aflame.
To the tall whites and short grays we’d do quite the same.
May Atlantis return as a major land mass
And make nice with the east coast in heated embrace.

Let the Hardware Department Find You a Good Screw

TheMagicRealist.com, The Magic Realist, Magic Realism

To the Hardware Department is where I will go
To find all that I need and more than I could want.
It’s a bright place of wonder and many delights.
When a man has no hardware, he’s prone to start fights.
And a man without tools is quite easy to taunt
So show kindness to such a soul. He’s feeling low.

The requirement for a good screw occurs when
In the mind there’s a yearning to see what’s out west.
If perchance I should go there and not find my gold
I would feel disappointed and somewhat controlled.
When it comes to good hardware I will find the best
At the Hardware Department where often I’ve been.

We all need a good screw every once in a while.
It’s a function of nature to drive it in deep.
Yet, the deeper it’s driven, the tighter the hold.
Living with living hardware is meant for the bold.
What one finds at the hardware store doesn’t come cheap
And with proper alignment, folks can screw in style.

Mega Motor Mothermouth

TheMagicRealist.com

Mega Mother Mirifica straight from Thailand
Is the herb I’m most high on. It is nature’s best.
None can mess with my motormouth. Many have tried.
I will talk rings around people and with great pride.
When my speech engine piques, I out motor the rest.
I don’t know what I’m saying, but folks understand.

Give me riches or fame or life’s forbidden fruit.
That may satisfy me if I were but a dame.
But my mouth is terrific. It runs on its own
Whether standing before you or via smartphone.
Men and women do motormouth about the same
And this doesn’t stop either from being astute.

I have something to say just as those who do not.
It can’t matter too little if there’s little talk
Because I fill the vacuum when there is no sound.
I could gab myself giddy. I’m quick to expound
On most anything uttered among any flock.
Where there are ears to talk to, I do what I ought.

Give Us The Grab Ass

TheMagicRealist.com

It was custom that candidates pleaded their case
To the public who decided which one would be
The next governor to stand outside of the law.
They had made their decision at once and for all.
They had chosen The Grab Ass, and to some degree,
‘Twas a guaranteed win without running a race.

“Which one do you want me to give to you today?”
Asked the Uncle, so gobsmacked at such a lame choice.
“Shall I give you this nice Secretary of State?
She appears squeaky clean… surely nothing to hate.”
But, the people who voted thought they had a voice.

The Big Bear chose The Grab Ass. Is this the new way?

“Kindly give us The Grab Ass!” I heard people shout.
“We don’t care that he’s nasty and gruff in his ways.
We just want someone brazen to stir up the pot.
The man has a red hard on. This matters a lot!
And as for poor old Hillary, our voices raise –
Lock her up in hell’s dungeon and don’t let her out!”

Here’s The Beef

TheMagicRealist.com

I am Manny, the meat man with many fine meats.
I will slice through your town and deliver fine cuts
Of the purest of premium beef parts there are.
I’ll deliver the beef with no bull from afar
Nor nearby so that all will have beef in their guts
Or their butts depending on how well the soul eats.

I do carry whole beef by the half or hind quart
Or by wedges with holes in them to give them air.
I have beef by the barrel, if that be your shape
Or by hormone replacement without the red tape.
The whole world is a meat market, just to be fair.
All I do is deliver. I’ll never run short.

“Where’s the Beef?”, then, should not be a question for you.
I have advertised subtly through the ages.
Beef is totally nourishing, high grade protein.
It can make the soul hearty and make the heart mean.
My whole beef isn’t mean. It’s practiced in stages.
I should start selling veggies. Folks might like that too.

Poetic License

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“Have Engine – Will Poet” shall be my motto.
When it comes right down to it, it’s one with some tread.
As I travel this highway, my ride must be smooth.
When my word road is bumpy, how can my work soothe?
I require Full License in trust that I’m read
Like a bird at its leisure with some place to go.

I’ve a License Poetic to prove I may drive
My machine in whatever way I judge to be
Beneficial in getting up just enough speed
But not so much that reading becomes a hard deed.
I am easy to read, and I cruise radar free.
Way ahead of departure, I’m good to arrive.

There’s no Highway Patrol for the poet in me.
They say it’s not my day job. I’m too small a fish.
I have not earned my letters for poetic arts.
Thus, I don’t have the right to endear people’s hearts.
So, I’m wild on my highway. I do as I wish.
I can poet my ass off and do it with glee.

Of Our Souls’ Unlike Poles

TheMagicRealist.com

Poles unlike can repel as this picture will tell:
One kind heart made for loving; one mean one for war.
We behave on all spectrums we feel may make sense.
Our magnetic reactions are our chief defense.
We are bipolar creatures who strive to be more
Than our natures can handle at times, but we’re well.

Are we well on our way to whoever we are
Without knowing the heart’s place in living life well?
The invisible flux lines we claim as our force
Can bring us true alignment or steer us off course.
At the seam of life’s structure is where I can dwell…
Where extremes in my makeup are never too far.

Unlike poles do attract, as a matter of fact.
My perceptive comparisons are just a way
To make sense of the magnetic soup I swim in.
Although noble a task, the task is to begin
Living life to its fullest with focus on play.
It’s a whole different thing, though, when like poles attract.

Didgeri Donewith

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s no fun! I am done with my didgeridoo.
It turns out it’s a nightmare carved from a tree branch.
Though there are those who play it and do it quite well
I do better with gut gas. All nearby can tell.
Both our blowing could trigger a fine avalanche
In a world where such things can come out of the blue.

I’ve a didgeridoo as a gift from a friend.
He is not from down under but from across town.
Might he have some agreement with them on the side?
Does he think I might learn how to play once I’ve tried?
Well, I’ve tried it enough times to put the thing down.
There’s just too much hard work and ill will to transcend.

So, I’m Didgeri Donewith. I did what I did
Thinking I’d have the patience to do as those do
Who have talent for getting good sound to come out
Of a tube wholly hollow. I’m left with no doubt
That my lungs need no workout. My didgeridoo
Done did all that it needs to. It now will be hid.

Zonehenge

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s a fact we spend much of our time in some queue.
Though we seem to be busy, we’re standing in line.
It is so unproductive to waste so much time
While we’re being held captive. No moment is prime
When there’s no movement forward – no sense of a sign
That my prison will free me for more things to do.

Does it seem to be moving? I can’t really tell.
The Illusion of movement can play with the mind.
Where in the world else but in non-moving lines
Can the mind shut down gracefully as it resigns
Itself to the reality that I’m confined
In a life situation a half tier from hell?

Like most relics, lines have evolved at a slow rate
Notwithstanding their increasing length over time.
We are Stonehenge-like creatures when frozen in place.
When I’m loose in a mindscape, I feel no disgrace.
I should zone out as my time seems not worth a dime.
Life is much more worth living than having to wait.

It’s About Self Control

TheMagicRealist.com

I attract what comes to me – no doubt about that.
When I find myself frazzled by what’s in my way,
I do tend to go off. I’ve been known to get riled
When I feel that my honor is being defiled
By someone with control issues and much to say –
Not with words but with attitude like a bobcat.

Tough black cats at the drive thru is what I will get
When I doubt what my better self knows fully well.
That is: No one can damage my ‘honor’ but me.
What goes on in the real world is not mine to see.
I can get through this fine day without letting hell
Have her pleasure at my expense and much regret.

Self-control is a skill to be practiced and honed
And this world does provide opportunities great.
I can move most my muscles; that much is for sure.
I command subtle energies never obscure
To my worthiness as well as those whom I hate.
My distaste for the drive thru is hereby postponed.

A Chawpauper’s Chance

TheMagicRealist.com

As most archetypes merge and evolve into more
Well-submerged in subconsciousness, earth drives the soul
Toward fulfilling its haughty desires unscathed
Until true life departs oneself. Then one is bathed
In a fog unbecoming a person who’s whole.
Even though one is chawless, there’s much to adore.

I know nothing of chaw. I am in no debate.
But by rogue curiosity I can possess
Some faint insight benevolent to the chaw heart.
Chaw is nasty to me. We are lightyears apart.
I can see people packing it when under stress.
When they’re chawless, they enter a psychotic state.

I’ve respect for the chawless and chawfull as well.
Rather than keeping tongue in cheek, they keep a ball
Of the foulest, most fecal of substances made.
Yet, it’s not by my scale that another is weighed.
Whence a chawpauper’s chance could be measured as small
It’s the breath that might kill you because of the smell.

Nature Of The Coil

TheMagicRealist.com

As the coil whistles wild tunes and rattles the nerve
Of what rest of self savors – an ease about flow,
The mind could think that wellbeing has a firm grip
On the body, or it could go bonkers an trip
On just why it seems, all the time, it has to know
To what purpose the whistles and rattles might serve.

It’s a coil, after all, in the form of a bowel.
I will steer clear of jargon that steers from what’s clear.
A tight coil is less spring-like, or more, by the way
I devote my attention throughout the long day.
If I take notice that no bowel movement is near
Then my day is a menace; my language is foul.

Thirty feet of a snake that will never stretch out
Nor will never see light of my day from its place
Well-concealed in its chamber, content in its ways,
I should cease my condemning it and give it praise
For the work it does ceaselessly in its embrace
Of whatever I put it through without a doubt.

Two Lips by Land or Tulips by Sea

TheMagicRealist.com

Many landscapes and seascapes avail themselves to
Simple pleasures of living that people enjoy.
Many lips go for kissing or catching the breeze.
There are spaces for tulips along friendly seas.
Whether tulips or few lips, each harbor the ploy
Of accessing the inner self like an old shoe.

Two lips land locked could be but one half of a quad
Where the missing half seems not a task to conceive.
Or two lips can be literate, light and at ease
With the spirit of nature who’s willing to please.
With some tulips between lips some hearts do achieve
Some small measure of happiness. Does that seem odd?

It’s the toss of a coin, sometimes, how things evolve.
Often life seems a game of chance hostile to will.
But it seems, at the same time, that I’m in control
Of what happens in my life and with my own soul.
That control comes from within – the voice that is still.
With a lifetime of life scenes, I’ve nothing to solve.

A Codec for Cotton

TheMagicRealist.com

I do most things online. I get digital sex
Through a modem equipped with touching technique
That sends chills up my spine when I’m getting things done.
When it comes to my laundry, my cycle’s begun.
I upload it to DigiClean once every week.
It downloads clean and folded, according to specs.

But sometimes I have trouble converting my load
To dot lnd format. This causes me stress.
I know Customer Service will lend me a hand.
They are always so friendly, and they understand
That although my ill applet has me in a mess
I will soon have clean laundry within my abode.

Often times it’s the codec that culprits my cause.
They get changed much too frequently due to the way
Bits of data treat fabric, synthetic or real.
They know nothing of texture. They can’t up and feel.
A fresh codec for cotton does brighten my day.
When one does laundry online, one obeys the laws.

What Every Colon Knows

TheMagicRealist.com

One would think I’m a colon or that it is me
As I move about backed up with scowl on the brain.
If I find myself trapped near the end of my gut,
Seems my bowel is an asshole who’s tired of the rut
That we both made together while waxing insane.
My behavior’s atrocious, as I can well see.

I gave up on the action paths. None will work well.
I’ve popped shitters like Skittles and chased them with milk
Of magnesia. I’ve tried tons of ex-lax and more.
I’m so hell bent on crapping, I’ve got my own store.
I would like stuff to flow softly through me like silk.
But it seems that my blasted pipes are shot to hell.

On the other hand, though, that may not be quite so.
I create my reality whether I’m trapped
In a body that feels like it’s felt its last days
Or in one that feels wholesome in all natural ways,
When I clean my vibration, that bowel will be zapped
With a blast of pure energy. This I well know.

Too Much to Chew

TheMagicRealist.com

I’ve got too much too chew. It came out of the blue
Or oblivious. I don’t know which one it is.
Simple greetings befall me as well as small talk.
By default I’m committed. There’s no room to balk.
I’ve been offered a chewing as well as a quiz
Once again I’m amazed by what I’ve stepped into.

This huge bone I’ve accepted seemed small at the start.
Or perhaps my small eyes see most anything big.
My eyes get me in trouble. My loose tongue as well.
I do act on my own and create my own hell.
If my eyes could see big things as small as a twig
Perhaps then I’d be shielded from hurt to the heart.

I should bite off a large chunk if I think I can
Get my jaws wrapped around it not seeming the fool.
Yet when I find that I’ve bitten off more than I
Could digest in a lifetime, I’m ready to try
Anything that might stop my becoming a tool.
I can be of good service and still be a man.

The Decisive Device

TheMagicrealist.com

A decisive device is one that can’t act nice.
Its decisions it makes with no input at all
From the user who just wants to get some things done.
I do not go for gaming nor surfing for fun.
And it gets so aggressive and makes me feel small.
I can’t deal with a dick headed devil device.

Don’t peek-a-boo to me with messages from
Your right corner, peripheral to my intent.
You do tittle my gaze as if I were a cat.
You should know that I’m human, and what’s wrong with that?
You continue to dick me. Indeed, you’re hell bent
On securing my madness so then you will cum.

A divisive sufficing may be what I need.
My decisive devices can get me perplexed.
When they tell me they’re doing things I don’t want done
Should I gather my privates, then turn tail and run?
I can’t figure out why things are so over sexed.
I shall guard my virginity as I proceed.

Urinal Banter

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My manhood is so huge I could call it my pal.
I do treat it that way and it does that for me.
My big pants surely can’t be as big as my balls
And my man knows his way around feminine halls.
When I bang any bitch she will cry out in glee.
I have no trouble getting my female canal.

If she likes to slurp schlong she must have a deep throat.
My man meat is a muscle of mass and much more.
She will beg for my cock. She will give it high praise.
She will preach of my peace pipe the rest of her days.
I will slam dunk that hallway until it is sore.
Should she lapse into coma, then that’s all she wrote.

Women know that my screwing is lethal indeed.
I’ll have them blowing snot bubbles before they know
What the hell ever hit them while prancing in place.
As for any bitch my dick is her saving grace.
She’ll be speaking in tongues in her long afterglow.
I am damned good at humping and cranking out seed.

The Black Widow Is Benign in Spirit

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Seems the widow’s a bitch when she’s not had her fill
Of the lover before who escaped to live on.
Life is cruel on all levels – not just with the bugs.
We can suck dry our enemies and give friends hugs.
It’s the widow, in this case, who’s gifted with brawn.
She decides who she eats by the whim of her will.

But it’s only in this life the bitch is so mean.
Though to her it’s the natural feminine way.
From the next life she watches her babies evolve.
She will never behold them. It is her resolve
To make sure that they all get the chance, come what may,
To experience living among nature’s green.

Her next hubby’s the next meal though he’s not aware.
She will need a full stomach to make babies grow.
By the same token, hubby is poised to move fast.
Once the romance is over, he wants life to last.
But if he doesn’t make it, he knows where he’ll go…
To the afterworld where creatures live without care.

Whatever Grinds Your Sea Salt

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Some men love to spank Hanky when Panky is steeped
In some other dank business that’s not of their own.
Seems all warnings of blindness one never will heed.
He will keep on performing his most selfish deed.
He will wrestle that monkey until it’s full grown
Then he’ll yank it some more until it has bo-peeped.

I would think it sound nature to find full relief
In whatever which way one must do what is done.
No one has any right to climb anyone’s tree.
One could train a good squirrel, though, to do it for fee.
So whatever will put your hotdog in the bun.
Do it wildly and proudly, and don’t make it brief.

One would float a bad boat with a lead overcoat
So it’s not recommended, but all else is cool.
And whatever will make that drunk chicken stand straight
Give the thing a tight fistful, for passion won’t wait.
Don’t get caught with your pants down. You’ll look like a fool.
What can surf through one’s channels is done by remote.

Fork Out of Dodge

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I’m your Fork Out of Dodge – a proverbial guy.
I’m dramatic and forceful when it’s time to go.
Any fork undercover is grateful to be
Among those expelled first from Dodge most rightfully.
It’s the city most thought of when getting to know
The sensation of terror. The question is, Why?

Stuff can happen in any town. Why pick out one
To become the example of bad scenes to leave?
And since when does one’s safety depend on the fork?
People fork off in Kansas as well as New York!
Yet these questions are moot. I’d do best to conceive
My own clear understanding. It’s better than none.

I’m a Fork on the run and I haven’t got time
To be hanging around when the fan is turned on.
If you haven’t a fork who is stranded in Dodge
Then relax and partake of yourself a massage.
I will fly by the night. I will not wait ‘til dawn.
I am destined to grow toward a new paradigm.

Abrahambra Cadabra Dispels All the Rumors

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Abrahambra Cadabra, Magician at Large,
Had her fans doing back flips to find out just why
She dropped out of the limelight to everyone’s shock.
Some had set up a vigil for prayer ‘round the clock.
She’s emerged from seclusion to breathe a brief sigh.
Had she taken some time for her soul to recharge?

This had nothing to do with her twin sister, Kate
Whom she’d turned to a chicken for upstaging her.
This had nothing to do with her romance with Keith
Though she’d only bump ugly with him underneath.
It turns out that her absence concerns her chauffeur.
Is he now a pineapple? We’ll just have to wait.

Miss Cadabra cadabbles in mystical things
As is true of her many fans throughout the land.
It’s no wonder the land makes the fondest ado
Of most frivolous happenings to delve into
When the starker alternatives tend to demand
Our attention toward hatred and all that it brings.

State of the Onion Address

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A sad state of affairs is the fate of us all
When sound Vegetable Science is outright ignored.
Though the onion is not an endangered species
We will cry when we hurt them, and some make us sneeze.
When one eats a raw onion, the mouth is a sword.
The hot breath becomes bated and ripe for a brawl.

The sad plight of the onion can be rectified
By our taking account of the facts that are clear.
We must accept our vegetables for who they are.
If we don’t listen to them, we set a low bar.
And, our onions are competent, though they appear
That they’re thin skinned and tend to not like being fried.

What I’m talking about here is nothing at all.
It’s an exercise and a good tweak for the mind,
Not a mind should be idle. That’s bad for the health.
It should penetrate consciousness by way of stealth.
A good mind that is nimble is one well designed
For engaging life’s challenges – big ones and small.

Buttock Brothers Hosiery

TheMagicRealist.com

We are Bob and Bill Buttock. Don’t give us no guff!
We have built a Brick Shithouse – One Hell of a store.
We know well what all women want next to their skin.
It’s a fact we know all things. So where to begin?
We’ve got feminine treats – affectations galore.
We are big businessmen who just go for that stuff.

We’ve no training in ‘Woman’ – no schooling at all.
Men can tell what a woman feels by how she looks.
If she looks like a flea-bitten bat on a fast
We can make her look healthy with duds that will last.
Our fine goods are of quality. We are not crooks!
Our commitment to help women makes us stand tall.

Stick your nose in our Buttock. Do come by today.
There’s a special promotional deal going on.
Buy a length of our hose at the regular price
Then we’ll shove you another one because we’re nice.
You may browse in content ‘til a new day will dawn
When all women of business will have it their way.

The Weather Girl Thought that the Cameras Weren’t Rolling

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What amazing a profile the Weather Girl has
Whether sunny and bright or wet, cloudy and cold.
It’s a short presentation to tell what will come.
It’s a bit like astrology – nonsense to some.
It’s been said every Weather Girl does as she’s told
But this isn’t quite so if she likes modern jazz.

So what under the sun can a Weather Girl do
That would cause any moron to pucker the snout?
How one digests one’s media is akin to
How one wipes one’s behind when there’s not much to do.
To be entertained fully, we must check things out.
So I go watch the Weather Girl blooper on cue?

Take a chase for a glimpse of those fine body parts.
News is only a peep show. By moment we pay
For a flash of the headline and tons of bull fluff.
It’s astonishing how folks survive on that stuff.
But I’m just an old poet with too much to say.
So thank God for the morons, and God bless the arts.