Tag Archive | life after death

The Human Xenome

TheMagicRealist.com

Stop a bit for a rest here. There’s room for just you
And perhaps a few others whose asses fit well
In a seat that is child-wide with arm rests that slant
So that those who would think of reclining can’t.
Will our public park presence continue to smell?
Does the rest of the park think that we are a zoo?

On the other hand, who cares how others may feel?
We do things our own way. Our forefathers said so.
If confederate monuments obstruct the view
Of our moving past hatred, could this be a clue
They should stay there until all who love them will go
To the next life where no one here will hear them squeal?

As we take our last breath in this walk-around dream
We will care least for trinkets of causes and wars.
We will see that our broke bodies and our weak minds
Are of volatile matter wherein no one finds
Any spiritual solace. My witness is yours.
This fine park we partake of is temporal in theme.

Oh Drench Me, Dear Life!

TheMagicRealist.com, The Magic Realist, Magic Realism

It’s a wonderful life. It is said here and now
In the present as much as it was in the past.
No condition need be so that I can feel good.
I tune in to my spirit as all creatures should.
If I’m playful about things, good feelings will last
For as long as I want them to. I just allow.

Fully Drench Me, dear life. Give me all that you’ve got.
Know my soul is a fragrant sponge thirsting for more
Of your sweet liquid lavishness perfectly pure.
It’s a joy to be living. Of this I am sure.
I am eager to savor what life has in store.
There is much more to praising than what there is not.

Bless the heel that may crush me. No harm can be done.
I am planted on earth but my consciousness dwells
In dimensions that parallel all that exist.
And this form, when it perishes, shouldn’t be missed.
This now moment is mine as it’s ringing my bells.
Life is less about fretting and more about fun.

We Are All Being Played

TheMagicRealist.com

This matrix, indeed, is a video game,
And we are all players who are ourselves played.
Every particle known within parts that are mixed
Leaves most men in a state where their minds are transfixed
On the question. That’s why our success is delayed.
Our perceiving and knowing are one and the same.

What is outside this game, then, if all this is true?
Does some One entity have control of us all?
I believe that all consciousness is a great sea
And within it all, there becomes you – also me.
Consciousness will transform when it answers that call
But it can’t be undone or created on cue.

So, this Great Sea of Being – the souls of us all
Who have cycled life’s circuitry throughout its build,
Are in consort to see that we play our game well.
When we listen, we’re open to what they will tell
Of the bliss that can happen when life is fulfilled.
They don’t play us against us. That would be our call.

Algorrhythmia

TheMagicRealist.com

How long do I keep up this foolish façade
Of believing I’m worth what was offered to me?
I took a big gamble thus ruining my life
In pretending I’m healthy enough for a wife.
I continue to screw up as people can see.
Thought I’d followed the program, but things turned out odd.

How does fate keep the terrorist from finding me?
There are those who are worth more. Had they had the chance
To grow old with their loved ones as worthy folks may
I’d be that much closer to my judgment day.
Life’s puzzle has proved such a strange circumstance.
There’s a reason for ISIS that I clearly see.

That I blither my ass off, can anyone know?
I can piss in pitch darkness and other things well.
If my stream should strike something at least I would know
That there is something out there. That might help me grow.
I did want isolation while burning in hell.
I’ll admit I’m a fuck-up. That’s not a hard blow.

Not another frog’s out there. No one knows I croak.
I was let loose to blunder my way through my days.
Easily I hurt others on my reckless path.
What procedure could probe at the heart of my wrath?
It’s one tough black sheep syndrome. I’ll get through this maze.
I’m one well-tempered asshole. It seems that’s no joke.

How Wonderful I Am

TheMagicRealist.com

We are wanting so much to awaken in you
Your memory of how beloved you are.
You are pure love and wonderful in every way.
We kick back and adore every song that you play.
Sing away, precious angel. You are a rock star.
It’s a pleasure to Be You. Your pleasure is true.

We just can’t sing enough about how good you are.
Not a thing you could do would deter us from Love…
Not a bow-legged stumble down life’s clumsy path…
Not a judgment in error through life’s aftermath.
By our measure, you shine like the stars up above.
It’s our promise that that what you seek isn’t far.

Do take care, fleshed ones. There is nothing to fear.
The whole universe backs you in whichever way
You decide is appropriate. Who then are ‘we’?
We are those who are dead now, yet ever to be.
We’ve discarded our clutter, so we’ve much to say.
And when you choose to hear us, or joy is sincere.

Pillar Performer

TheMagicRealist.com

For my last day on earth I shall hang by the face
To a branch that is sturdy, yet tender and new.
To spring forth and perform natural acts is pure bliss.
I don’t take life’s meal lightly; no leaf I’ll dismiss.
I convert all to protein as fast as I chew.
Though I’m slow and deliberate, I run a fast race.

I’ve a lifetime to ponder and munch as I go
Automatic and focused on fattening fill.
In a multi ring circus no tent could contain
I’m an expert already and don’t have to train
For the feats I will die for. I do have free will
To remain from the spotlight. I steal no one’s show.

My death would come quickly if I became prey
In the beak of some dinosaur with a sharp eye.
Our act would end smartly, by nature’s demand.
Those who strive toward the big top will well understand
That the show must go on even though creatures die
And replace one another throughout nature’s Day.

Backfire

TheMagicRealist.com

When a Fire gets going, what’s there to be done?
The first thing might be: Get the Hell out of Dodge.
But a fire can move at the speed of a thought.
It’s ignited by anyone feeling distraught.
One could end up a guest in some rogue fuselage!
Does it make any sense, then, to call 911?

One may speak of the first bomb – that bursting in air,
And the horror it rained by the dawn’s early light.
Some powerful whoop ass did cause earth to cower.
Who’d have thought that mankind could have wielded such power?
The big war was won, yet things just don’t seem right.
We now spew whoop ass worthiness instead of prayer.

The fire that burns from the will of the heart
Is the same in the atom that makes of the flesh
A carnal aroma – cooked meat in the air,
And mass devastation and death everywhere,
As memory filters through smoke laden mesh,
And consciousness struggles to make a new start.

We do call ourselves righteous and let others know
That we don’t take a beating then run away pissed.
We have enough nukes we could blow up the moon!
If and when all world leaders will reach that point soon,
There’s potential for Fireworks… Hard to resist.
And the earth will survive us, as once long ago.

Vetting Spree

TheMagicRealist.com

Hasn’t anyone heard of a Vetting Spree?
Aren’t you bored with just shopping and watching TV?
A few troubled nations are helping us some.
What’s the matter with others?  Our best blessings come
When we’re aiding our fellows cast out like debris.
A great moat has evolved of the vast, raging sea.

We’d applaud the world media drowning you all
With our plight, had we free hands and some air to spare.
Perhaps no one knows what a drowning is like
But the will to survive, unlike riding a bike,
Will consume the soul wholly.  Does anyone care?
It is much like a lynching designed to enthrall.

I am better than seaweed and now it’s just me.
My family and friends have all drifted beyond.
Lungs are salt water packages shipped Next Day Air
From a world left behind in a pit of despair
To another one where no one needs to respond.
I’m worth vetting, then letting my humbled self be.

The Point Not Taken

TheMagicRealist.com

Two separate beings converged into one,
I stand astonished.  Which choice is clear to me?
My one self sees that its life someday is done.
My broader self knows that all has just begun.
I’m a soul in a briefcase hand carried most casually.

Though born to wonder… to share what I feel,
Sometimes I wander; I’m lost along the way.
To know what is not just as well as what is real
Is to know that one may have something to reveal.
But to share it, indeed, I’ll put off for another day.

I know by now that I’ve been here before
At this same juncture.  The sign before my face
Now reads rather oddly as life does at its core.
The next time around, will I even up the score?
The true self knows every journey is one of grace.

Wellbeing knows all who travel aground.
The signs are plenty and placed along each way.
If I just yield, then my bounty will abound.
I’ll know my worth, and I’ll speak without a sound.
Perhaps then some may hear what I have to say.

Homegoing

TheMagicRelist.com

We don’t call them funerals and haven’t since when…
Our departed are happy as we should all be.
Life’s a woe upon blessing and grace mixed with pain.
Their time dwelt among us… Our loss is God’s gain.
We believe that all people will someday be free
When we dwell in the home of Our Father again.

We are ‘home’ on this earth for a brief little while.
We are made of the earth as the gingerbread shack
In a made believe land where sharp contrast abounds
With the purest of music and God awful sounds.
We have faith in our Lord and know He has our back.
When we leave this dear earth we will do it in style.

The service is much for us, and that we know.
When we cheer our freed loved ones whom now have moved on
We moan and we wail from the pit of our hearts.
There’s no stammering, stuttering, stares or false starts.
Living deep in our souls it still seems that they’re gone.
Our tradition has changed little since long ago.

Engaging the Bang

Engaging the Bang

It’s a bang up job Someone’s doing out there
And quite Big, one might add just because it is so.
So who am I, then, to get bent out of shape
Over little stuff making me act like an ape?
But, perhaps I am one. That is something to know.
That’s because evolution’s a bit of a scare.

The Bang is the thing that becomes all of now
So long ago all that remains is a glow.
But it’s not an explosion occurred in one space.
Everywhere, all at once, became time within place!
The stream of creation continues to flow.
The quest without quibble’s to figure just how.

But, I’m not Dr. Tyson. I’m just an old man
Whose parallel path didn’t reach the same goal.
Accomplishments scarce, I have no one to blame.
In the years that remain, I reflect just the same.
There’s a dampening voice in the pit of my soul.
To go out with a bang is not what is at hand.

Farewell, Judge Soprano

TheMagicRealist.com

A justice departed, seems moments ago
What with all that can happen within a short time.
I am someone whom you would have treated unfair.
Your body not cold, yet debate’s in the air.
Your replacement’s the issue; so is it a crime
That a nigger selects one amid present woe?

I am sure that by now you don’t care what goes on
With the sculpture you’ve carved of this thing called the law.
There’s a thing about justice one must understand:
There is office for everyone – even the klan
In a nation so free that it sticks its own craw.
I will learn to look past you before I am gone.

My disgust, now, is only with mankind – not you
I disliked you, dear justice, but now that you’re gone
As politics scavenges fruits of your passing
And as arguments for and against are amassing
The prayer is the hope that we dare to move on.
Released from this world, now, you have broader view.

Just Terrified of the Life Review

Just Terrified of the Life Review

I don’t fear not being for how would I know
That I couldn’t know anything – not even not being?
With no memory of life having ever been lived
All deed that were doing must then be forgiv’d.
Nonexistence is futile. There’s no disagreeing
Unless not to be is a good way to grow.

I don’t mind dying; I might as well not
Since death is a thing that will happen to all.
I’d much rather go in my sleep just the same.
To perish in mishap would carry no blame.
If by sickness its quickness will strengthen its call
But it’s not that I think about death quite a lot.

Even the afterlife worries me none
If there’s a place where we all reunite.
The only thing that consumes me with terror
Are acts I committed while living in error
All shown before me in the brightest of light.
I’m remorseful for some of the things that I’ve done.

Doubting Thomas

TheMagicRealist.com

Yo, Thomas, get in here! Don’t chill in the yard.
I’ve something intended for your doubting ass.
I know well why you’re out there. It’s obvious, dude.
You’re a skeptic. Get over it, and don’t be so rude.
If I ran a Christ school you’d be ass of the class.
Stick your hand in my side, and don’t think very hard.

Why my Father made you so Dad blasted thick
Is a mystery still. I must ask Him some day,
Hey Dad, if you make a man dumber than dirt,
Does he always become, then, a doubting expert?”
Perhaps not worth asking… I will anyway.
My love for you, bro, is more solid than brick.

When I told your behind I would rise from the dead
Did you think I was smoking some weirded out wick?
My Lord and my God,” you say there on your knees.
I can see your believing’s no act to appease…
Well, Tom, that’s terrific; don’t lay it on thick.
We don’t do Shakespeare. We do gospel instead.