Tag Archive | life

Latent Onset Barking Giblet Syndrome

TheMagicRealist.com

Though I have much to bark about, I ain’t no dog.
I’m a fancy freed turkey with much on my mind…
Like preparing all cuckoo birds for a revolt.
The mere sound of my singing should give them a jolt
In their giblets, and with marching orders assigned,
They will know time as digital and analog.

Now, it’s way past Thanksgiving. I’ve made it thus far
Past the pomp and payola portrayed in the pork.
I ran fast past the red barn and never peeked in.
The attorneys I talk to say that’s not a sin.
No longer in delusion, I’m free to uncork
The champagne of immunity from the bizarre.

I’m a late barking giblet. The turkey in chief
Has grotesque table manners, I’m lucky to say.
That gives me time to wonder if I’m doing right.
To myself and my kin folk I should have stayed tight.
I have gobbled some game and have much to convey.
It beats time in the oven and brings great relief.

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.

Smocking FIOUTS

TheMagicRealist.com

What’s a Smocking FIOTUS? It’s part of a clue
Like the tip of an iceberg or piece of a thread
Or a small flaming asshole that sparks a swamp fire.
An adult who is literate he may require
As his tweets get more feeble, perhaps due to dread
Of the onslaught of justice about to come due.

To be First Individual of the US
Is to be in delusion. The truth, as it were,
Is a menace that one can conveniently cast
By the wayside in favor of gains ill-amassed.
There’s a torrent of ‘Smock’ that he will not deter.
He’ll sink deeper in lunacy and not confess.

What comes out of a gun made of smocking, pray tell?
Perhaps Freudian imagery patterned by way
Of connected soiled fabric laid out in plain view
For a pissed off electorate as if on cue.
To the First Individual, people are prey.
All are prepared as ever for the next bombshell.

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.

Belongingness Longing

TheMagicRealist.com

My Belongingness Longing is called loneliness.
To belong to someone or something that I love
Is to be in fulfillment of much of life’s dream.
Yet, I’m already part of the total life stream
That has taken its residence, like hand in glove,
Into physical matter. To Be Is Success!

I belong to myself. Does it long much for me?
No more than any other does it give a rip
Because it longs for sustenance, just as all flesh.
Its consumption of substance it does to refresh
Its flesh package. At times life can be a strange trip.
I’ve belonged for a while. No one needs to agree.

Longingness is of feelings… affairs of the heart
And of things that no matter can well understand.
Matter needs not the spirit to justify pain.
It endures well within it for ultimate gain.
I’ll recover as I take my heart by the hand
And we both will discover a loving new start.

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?

Observing The Chatter

TheMagicRealist.com

Background noise from the Big Bang can sometimes be heard,
Like a light, high-pitched sizzle recessed in the mind.
The sub audible clutter adrift in the brain
Can remain unattended, but there is some gain
In Observing The Chatter because it’s designed
By our guardians to offer what is preferred.

Pure sound gives us some focus when we meditate
To the lull of a waterfall or singing birds.
It engulfs all the cosmos in one single tone
And is translated rightfully to each his own.
When I notice that chatter has turned into words,
Are they those of my spirit? Should I concentrate?

Sometimes it’s my own chatter that gets in the way
Of receiving what should come directly from God.
I can tell somewhat easily which voice is mine
And which one is all knowing, more loving and kind.
Do I strum to his image as he gives a nod?
If I’m sure it’s his chatter, then it’s a good day.

Red Christmas

TheMagicRealist.com

Who’s dreaming of a Red Christmas?
Well, that relies on what we mean.
With a red shift waning, there’s no complaining,
Not even from the trees of green.

Those dreaming of a Red Christmas
May see life through a different lens.
As the noble prism induces schism,
White light is on what it depends.

I’m bracing for a Red Christmas
Despite its spectroscopic hue.
As the year approaching comes new
Some may feel that Christmases are blue.

Spirit Matter

TheMagicRealist.com

From somewhere deep in spirit to this place we come.
A magnificent replica of the real thing,
This earth plane does poor justice to living life there.
What’s reflected from spirit is beyond compare.
Yet, upon this dirt schoolhouse we solemnly cling
Until we are released back to where we came from.

There’s no cleaning in spirit… not rubbish to tend.
No dust ever collects because none can exist
In its corners. No mourners do cry do to that.
One can eat like a pig and will never get fat.
All the heartache that goes on here will not be missed.
Everyone we encounter will be our best friend.

This is not just a fluke, here – this flesh and bone stuff.
It exists in ideal form that cannot be form
In the ways we perceive the projection it makes
Upon our feeble senses. But make no mistakes,
What we gain from our time romancing the dust storm
Is a spirit well-seasoned who has had enough.

Sup, Bro?

TheMagicRealist.com

What is up with you, bro? Fancy meeting you here!
You look sharp as a bullet. It’s been a long time
Since we played chess together. How goes the old fight?
I can give you advice, so you sleep well at night,
That is, if you should need it, my brother in crime.
Sit right down next to me so our people can cheer.

Let the world know our kinship. The cat’s left the bag
And has scattered much litter throughout his terrain.
He’s a chump of a leader. We both know it’s true.
With this fool in our pocket, there’s much we can do
To dissolve his agenda and drive him insane.
I don’t mind laughing out loud. Let both of us brag.

Yes, the world is our oyster. The fool is our pearl.
I have deep admiration for how you kill folk –
By discrete lethal poison. We fancy chain saws.
It fits in with our customs and religious laws.
We can both agree that this world stage is a joke.
Let us kick back in comfort and watch it unfurl.

Karma Is My Only Risk

TheMagicRealist.com

Take a dip into earth life. Things may turn out well,
Or adjustment to living may feel to be hard.
There are things to be learned about getting along
With other skinny dippers. The spirit is strong
In that it holds experience in high regard.
But, there’s always the chance one could make of life hell.

We are building our homes in the afterlife now,
Here on earth with the acts we commit everyday.
And the things we care most about, shallow or deep,
Will surround us in spirit. It is best to keep
One’s fixations aligned in a most righteous way.
I may want to be good, but I may not know how.

Our most brief interactions, and those over years,
With the ones we encounter in this karmic sea,
Weave an intricate fabric. It covers our deeds
In appropriate costume. Our karma proceeds
From the moment of contact with new life to be.
I can’t help but make karma. This heightens my fears.

That is why that forgiveness is such a godsend.
Like sliced bread, it’s the mother necessity craved.
Though somewhat inconceivable to the ill heart,
It’s a wise thing to count on, with me at the start.
There’s the chance that my life can be spirit depraved,
But there is always guidance on which to depend.

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.

How’s Your White Count?

TheMagicRealist.com

I am black, so my white count should be awfully low.
Now, that would make some sense in a black in white world.
But the world is both black and white and red and blue
And some odd unseen colors. These are but a few.
There’s advantage to living with hair tightly curled
When follicular freedom is not apropos.

I’m concerned with my white count. My reds are ok.
They have no will to sickle nor stand for my race.
White ones keep law and order, while reds give and take
In their visits to other ones. There’s a handshake
That supports our survival in this temporal space.
White ones deal with infection. It must be their way.

Invasion and infection are similar terms.
Both are born out of fear perceived to be outside
One’s ordained sense of selfhood, for better or worse.
Yet, sometimes it’s a good thing; sometimes it’s a curse.
Our most cellular judgments cannot be denied.
They will always reflect what the true heart confirms.

The Quantum Mechanic

TheMagicRealist.com

There are many professions. They all are worthwhile.
From the cleaning of streets to the making of laws,
Every being alive who does some kind of work
Is a Quantum Mechanic whose pride is a perk.
Smashing thoughtforms together creates the first cause.
No one else in the universe fits the profile.

To the fine Magic Realist, the quanta form words.
When collided, verboseness brakes down into parts.
The particulate pieces, syllabic in form,
Break down further to letters. An ample brain storm
Monitored lovingly and shared with other hearts
Is the will of expression and all that it girds.

Everyone has this job title. No one’s exempt.
We may do something also so that we may live.
But we’re all hooked on particles strung end to end
And read left to right leisurely. They’re a godsend
To unsung thought colliders least provocative
In revealing new meaning or unseen contempt.

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.

After The Gold Rush

TheMagicRealist.com

Step Away from The Gold Rush! Please do so with haste.
It cannot overtake us. It can’t move that fast.
But it does. It’s the rush of a blanket of fire.
Though it glitters like gold, it is no one’s desire,
And the smoke left behind leaves the sky overcast.
That which was once a paradise is laid to waste.

Mother Nature compelled us once to this rich land
Complementing the ocean in elegant beach
And magnificent mountains. Like locusts we flew
And took on a big gamble, for all that we knew.
The rush then became statehood with magnetic reach
Across distance to peoples of skin somewhat tanned.

The rush of xenophobia filtered into
The fine fabric of governance to deal with crime
While the rush of gold nuggets came to but a few.
Laws that targeted immigrants was something new.
Things have increased in heat with the passage of time.
We depend on our leaders to know what to do.

Perhaps After The Gold Rush, as ashes are laid
And we have time to process events taking place,
We may notice that climate change has much to do
With how much we ignore what quite clearly is true.
The return of The Gold Rush puts us in a race
For our very survival, yet we’re not afraid.

I Started Some Shit

TheMagicRealist.com

…I started some shit which started the whole word eating.
But I did not see that the shit was on me.
So I started to eat which started the whole world puking.
Oh, if I’d only seen that the shit was on me.

I learned how to puke, like a damned kook, and got rebuke,
So I messed with their minds and their behinds with things of all kinds
Till I finally shit which started the whole world eating.
Oh if I’d only seen that the shit was on me…

It’s A Life

TheMagicRealist.com

Some who don’t live a fine life may just want to quit
All because our comparisons to other folk
Are blown out of perspective. No life can compare
With another life. This only leads to despair.
The solution to pain is not going for broke
On the hope freedom comes from the act I commit.

A black hole with a force field becomes of my chest
As I strum the vibration of all that goes wrong
In my waking life. There is a way I can see
That if I would stop strumming, clearer I would be
At discerning the ways in which all do belong
To a purpose much larger wherein all are blessed.

It’s A Life – nothing special – a small grain of sand
On a beach of such vastness. I am not alone
Nor do I need forget that all grains are the same.
I respond to life’s tides and have no one to blame
If I feel disconnected and left on my own.
I am fortunate in having learned this first hand.

Is America White Again?

TheMagicRealist.com

Are we having fun yet? Has the whitewash begun?
I’m prepared for some drama. So, how about you?
It has been nearly two years since, by Putin’s hand,
We’ve a leader forced on us who sleeps with the klan
In a way that most people see all the way through.
We take blood with our soil. Our work is never done.

Have you fulfilled your promise? Have we become white?
To give thanks for our fairness is irony squared.
Why you made it so far may be to fulfill fate.
We have updated programming written in hate.
Who would grin at the sight of our folks running scared
Through the streets of our nation? How are we to fight?

Some men are given credit for where we are now.
All they did was add salt to the wound that exists.
So, we must own our whiteness and work from within.
We alone can deal with our original sin.
Fully funded and fettered with handguns and fists,
Can we deal with our whiteness and evolve somehow?

Erythro-Cyanotic Convulsive Therapy

TheMagicRealist.com

What we show to our children, they’re poised to reject
On the basis that they do not want their minds blown.
We’ve a binary system of government still
That reflects not all backgrounds nor popular will.
Current live through the nation is to the world known.
It erupts into madness. What can we expect?

We are AC’s and DC’s, the reds and the blues.
Our reps pair off like chromosomes as they perform
Their tough work notwithstanding the issues involved
That lay gathering dust and are not to be solved.
To relax in convulsion has become the norm.
In the ways we are jolted, we may change our views.

We should maintain the circuitry. Current through us
Can be managed and measured as cycles repeat.
When we’re shocked to our senses, will there be a pause
In our faulty behavior? Will we change our laws?
Our components, conventional, are then discrete.
Things can be quite as simple as minus and plus.

No Warm Flesh Allowed

TheMagicRealist.com

There’s no warm flesh allowed here unless it’s our own.
Pass the hate and the threat sauce, then let us give thanks.
Christmas means that Thanksgiving was one month before.
Somewhere in there, Black Friday we cannot ignore.
Those who dare to be thankful are those who run banks.
The palette of protection is way overblown.

Those who don’t have an appetite eat to their fill
Of apparent abundance by virtue and fate.
Those who do want a warm meal are welcomed in homes
That are not so beleaguered by fearful syndromes.
Are our best and worst attributes truly innate?
We need not be so thankful that pain is a thrill.

Flesh must be served with metal. Our troops must be there
At the border to wait for what seems but a few.
I know you can be thankful, though not with your own.
We are all right there with you. I hope this is shown
In a way that brings warmth and compassion to you.
God bless all the world’s people. Is this a good prayer?

Geo-Revalescence

TheMagicRealist.com

Mother Earth goes through changes… we humans as well.
She plays chess on her surface, and we are her pawns
As well as other pieces, like knights, rooks and kings.
As she wins, we recover and take care of things.
It would be without purpose to weigh pros and cons.
We are at the earth’s mercy and under her spell.

So, whatever we give to her, she will give back
In a way most appropriate. We can assist
Her in making things better through technology
And through globalized vision in democracy.
By the same token, we can do much to resist
Providential engagement and focus on lack.

Earth and life are both miracles. We are offspring
Of the strong worldly signal between the earth’s poles.
We can vibrate well with her or knock ourselves out
Of alignment with nature and live in much doubt
That this place is a paradise meant for our souls.
Earth will do well despite us as we do our thing.

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.

Don’t Ask This Question

TheMagicRealist.com

Both the mystic and mentor of physics exist
To find answers to questions we all come to ask.
Who we are, where we come from, and where we will go
Are among things that many endeavor to know.
Yet, we all have this knowledge. Indeed, we can bask
In rich inner experience that’s often missed.

The nature of my own experience is such
That I can’t find an answer from outside of me.
I can ask who you are, and that may make some sense,
But if I ask you who I am, that means I’m dense.
If I don’t know who I am, most shrinks would agree.
That’s why many consult them and pay them so much.

Very little pain ever comes from the outside.
Most of it is self-help, and consumption is high.
I alone am the path to the person I seek.
Each of us is a service of knowledge unique.
I’m a creature who ponders and keeps asking why
On earth would in someone else I’d care to confide.

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.

Preexisting Condition

TheMagicRealist.com

Long before preexisting, butt fisting began
But instead of butt fists, folks who lead use their heads.
With the head up the rectum, the vision is dark.
The well-seasoned optometrists, proud to remark
That to preexist presently is how love spreads,
Can make of our fine health care a much better plan.

For the cephalic buttock, there is no support
But from butt-minded followers. They are the base,
Not that others are acids or potent mushrooms.
If things do appear alkaline, science assumes
That I should not be covered, except for my face.
If I smell what I’m seeing, I sell myself short.

For conditions beforehand to be well insured
We must have enough sense to wish everyone well.
Wellness can be contagious if we’re of right mind
And of simple compassion for all humankind.
To support the alignment of each living cell
Is to welcome the mindset that all can be cured.

An Elfen Plea

TheMagicRealist.com

All we do is make cookies. So, what is the deal?
We’ve been told through a tweet that our funds have been cut.
We’re not sure who’s behind this nor why it was done.
When we’re not hard at work all we do is have fun.
We’ve heard tell of a white house and some rabid nut.
We are creatures of peace. Are you people for real?

Some strange things have been going on these past few days.
Where do we get our news from? We don’t watch TV.
Carried on magic air waves, aroma is how
We support nature’s mission and stay in the now.
Who the Hell fucks with elves? That we can clearly see.
Potent anger can seep out in myriad ways.

We elves can prove our innocence. We can’t do wrong.
That’s because we are real only in the context
That is deemed to be righteous and willingly kind.
We are forever safe from one who’s lost his mind.
Who will get the next tweet when your white house is vexed?
If you’d just eat some cookies, you’d all get along.

Thorn Of Creation

TheMagicRealist.com

Pinnacle of Creation…? Are we the earth’s crown?
Seems I’ve heard that somewhere in my arrogant past.
We are made up of stardust. Although that is true,
We appear problematic from a cosmic view.
Climate change is no hoax. I can see that at last.
If we don’t find consensus, our world may burn down.

We are created equal. Does that mean we are
At the top of the life chain by virtue of wit?
There’s no chain in life’s balance. Its will to consume
Is its own sense of freedom to allocate doom
Quite at random. To nature we’ll learn to submit.
If we don’t, she may tell us to go fuck a star.

We’re the Thorn of Creation, at this point in time
And within the eternal. We ain’t about shit
Both in good ways and shallow ways in normal space.
We cry out to the cosmos. Bravo for our race!
We have rampant dominion. We can’t be unfit
Lest we’re given the pink slip for negligent crime.

Things Delightful

TheMagicRealist.com

I do find you delightful and rightfully so
Even though I know you’re not something I could own
Like another fine plaything. You are flesh and blood
And although I’m not sexy, I think I’m a stud.
Could it be that the best things are best left alone?
If it’s true it is something I care not to know.

Things are made up of atoms. Delightful they are
For the concept of building blocks that we hold dear.
We delight in our concepts – the things of the mind.
We must know that without them we need not feel blind.
Things delightful can in a flash all disappear.
Starting over with nothing must be quite bizarre.

God bless all things delightful and people as well.
We are here for a short while. We’re made of this place.
The earth is not a plaything. Have we gone too far?
Has the wrath of the Ricans spilled our caviar?
Can we claim our survival as one human race
Before our self-undoing? It’s too hard to tell.

Fecally Shaped Blunt Objects

TheMagicRealist.com

They should be not in office – perhaps on display
Behind sealed tinted glass with a clear caution sign
That describes all the dangers of staring too long.
To partake of their mindset would make of me wrong
In terms of my own freedom and will to define
What is truthful and like the American way.

Parents do keep such objects away from their kids.
Since they do that by instinct, then they should take heed
Of the same spark of guidance and refrain as well
From the thought of things fecal concocting a spell.
What is felt from our leadership is nervous greed.
Who they care most about is behind their eyelids.

When bluntness and fecality go hand in hand
And the natives demand more than leaders allow,
It’s the sound of a bugle. There’s raising of flags.
Most would not leave their riches and return to rags.
Such things should not be played with. There is a way now
To remove things of danger that threaten our land.

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.

Closet For Rent

TheMagicRealist.com

I’ve a closet for rent. This place is heaven sent
In a house in another house within a third.
It has plenty of space even though it looks small.
If you have many children, you can fit them all
In the hamper included, although not inferred.
You can’t thrive in the street or a government tent.

You can make of this closet a new way of life.
We who live here already you’ll have to excuse.
We are mean and perverse. We may make you our slaves.
Like the immature cowboy who oft’ misbehaves,
Family members who bicker excel at abuse
And at making sure renters do not forget strife.

Pick those dirty clothes up, even though they’re not yours.
Keep the room that encloses you tidy and neat.
That you might get your own room is such a sick thought.
Should you come to own my house I would be distraught.
Your improving your lives means our utter defeat.
That is why we’re all human and quite big on wars.

How Cool Is The Coulomb?

TheMagicRealist.com

It is I who is E who is M times C squared.
I don’t have to believe it. I feel that it’s so.
When a group of electrons reach a certain size
They are then called a Coulomb. Now that’s a fine prize!
It’s not like he’s their daddy who lived long ago.
Electrons have had freedom before humans cared.

But why quibble with detail? The question is this:
Can electrons do harm to the things they flow through
Or the pathways they travel at nearly light speed?
Only if they are frightened by force of ill deed.
Back and forth through the circuitry, each time is new
With a frequency so high they can’t reminisce.

History does repeat itself. Electrons flow
To and fro in the same ways they’ve done all along.
The Coulomb is preferred over one who’s not cool.
If one runs out of charge, one may drift like a fool.
There is great strength in numbers. The Coulomb is strong.
It can keep us in darkness or make the bulb glow.

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.

A Cold Day In Hell

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s a cold, bitter day in this hell of a land,
Reminiscent of Hitchcock and horror by noon.
It’s a day to keep cover and stay tucked inside.
Has the weather transformed due to withering pride?
As the Shift becomes Planck Time, it seems there’s no ‘soon.’
How this cold came upon me I should understand.

Constitutional crisis? Another blood bath?
It’s a day unremarkable given the state
Of the battle-worn psyche. I know how to feel.
To digest the reality of a raw deal
Is to be fed by duty to rectify fate.
What came first is the demon – not the psychopath.

I can swear it’s a bad day for no one but me.
I could say it’s a good day. It’s all just the same
As if all days were stardust of minuscule mass.
‘Such a headache to ponder what may come to pass.
I have faith in my country and shiver in shame.
I am chilled to the decrement of each degree.

The Human Condition

TheMagicRealist.com

There is plenty of time now to take a zoom out
And a break from the human condition I’m in.
There is freedom to go out and breathe some fresh air.
Even though there is plenty, some don’t seem to care.
Man will act out in ways of Original Sin.
There is no will to reason and no time to doubt.

It’s The Human Condition, the one that feels fear
From the slightest involvement in life every day,
That again disappoints me, although that can’t be.
I create what I feel, as I judge what I see.
All that goes on around me is ego at play.
If I looked at it that way, would life become dear?

I know well my condition, at home on a speck
Within vastness unspeakable to the hard brain.
All of human accomplishment has to make sense.
True enlightenment maybe will someday commence.
Is there fear that the notion is taken in vain?
Some fresh air and some solitude keeps me in check.

The Privilege Of Sport

TheMagicRealist.com

‘Tis the night before midterms. Across all the land
People watch the contestants as they duke it out.
They deliver hard blows to each other’s intent.
We determine lethality with each event.
Many polls are available to foster doubt
And provide information most can’t understand.

There is talk of a blue wave amid the fanfare.
I have had my heart broken in this way before.
But I can’t live my life with no semblance of hope
That the world can be righted. I have but to cope
With the game as it plays out. I help my team score
With my ballot, along with some serious prayer.

This one’s not like the other ones. I said that too,
Twenty-four horrid months ago. It seems like years
That I’ve felt like a loser on a losing team,
Somewhat laughed at and messed with quite to the extreme.
There cannot be a reason to nurture my fears.
And our spectator sporting is not for the few.

It’s The Enemy, Stupid!

TheMagicRealist.com

It is not the economy or climate change,
Nor the busloads of niggers invading our land.
It is not about faith in the red, white and blue
Spouted off by a leader who has not a clue.
We create most our enemies by our own hand.
We may look in the mirror and not feel so strange.

Who comes here from some faraway land to kill folk?
There may be one or two, if statistics are fair.
It would seem we’re the problem – not people outside.
If we looked at this truthfully, we’d shed some pride.
We’ve become awfully tribal. Most people don’t care.
We are prey to our own as our hatred we stoke.

Take a look at the enemy not of brown skin
…The poor ones wanting freedom from their oppressed lands.
They don’t come here to kill us. We do have our own.
They are ruthlessly masterful, and they’re home grown.
If you speak with an accent no one understands,
Know that you’re not the enemy we keep within.

Ditsy Dog Dogma

TheMagicRealist.com

If you do own a Ditsy Dog or one owns you,
You have much to give, one to the other, by way
Of much love and attention to every detail
Of each moment where truth and excitement prevail.
Therapeutic is that which can get us to play.
That’s the Ditsy Dog Dogma. It can be mine too.

I would not call him frisky. At that he would balk.
Energy is a substance he draws from the air.
He will prance like a dancing bear when giving thanks
Or whenever I praise his most marvelous pranks.
I do find him quite silly, but he doesn’t care.
He reminds me of that when we go for a walk.

Ditsy Dogs are delightful. Their hearts are of gold.
They are prime entertainment and good exercise.
Any mood that is sour, they will make it right
Through deliberate daftness and attitude bright.
And in step with their dogma, they are our allies
From the time we are children until we are old.

Congregation

TheMagicRealist.com

Will they meet for the last time or many times more
Than the law will allow self-destruction to rule,
Not unnoticed but ignored and pushed to the side
Among their congregation oddfellowed with pride?
To partake of communion, one must play the fool
For a leader who all think that they would die for.

They prepare for their teacher. His lies they ignore.
It’s the gist of his message alone with its punch
That excites them effectively. Cult leaders can,
By the way of deception, rewrite one’s game plan.
The great leader now chosen may be out to lunch.
But his followers will only have him do more.

Why do some drink the poison while others do not?
It’s a confounding mystery if it makes sense
On some level notwithstanding sheer disbelief
That the congregants gathered will ever feel grief
For their misguided loyalty to blatant offense.
Desperate acts of the cult leader thicken the plot.

Net Worth

TheMagicRealist.com

Contemplating my net worth, I come to a blank,
Since I bought it from Walmart, not Amazon Prime.
It is made of tough nylon and hard naugawood.
It did cost me a fortune. That means that it’s good.
You would think I was cheap if I paid but a dime.
So my net worth is high. I’ll take that to the bank.

Tell me, what is your net worth? Do you own your home?
Do you discard soiled underwear after one use?
Don’t be shocked by these questions. They’re not asked by me
But by nations with tariffs on nets shipped by sea.
Work translates to production. From that I deduce
That no work means less drama and freedom to roam.

Cast your nets freely seaward and into the sky.
Take in all that makes worthiness something to own.
I am worth who I’m worth to whom all that I meet
Except banks and insurance folk with hearts petite.
The value of the volley is vividly shown
By how well we remember that someday we’ll die.

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.

Restlessness Of The Natives

TheMagicRealist.com

Many natives are restless these days, it would seem.
Someone’s dialed up the heat in this fine melting pot.
We shall simmer within it, but others, beware…
If you’re fleeing from violence, we simply don’t care.
We are self-righteous natives. You people are not!
If you come near our border, like children, we’ll scream.

Holy Smokes! There’s a Caravan headed this way.
Those damned nachos are nasty. They bring with them crime.
They will all become Democrats and take our jobs.
They will dirty our streets and hang out in big mobs.
Even though they’re on foot, they’ll be here in no time.
We must now send armed forces to keep them at bay.

This old theme is familiar. The costumes may change
As we make of our goblins our most morbid fears.
We have been throughout history creatures on edge
And consumed with division and driving a wedge
Between one’s own and others. Our future appears
To be fateful. Then, trick or treat isn’t so strange.

Live Anger Free

TheMagicRealist.com

If my responsibility for how I act
Is an accurate image of just how I feel,
Then how come I don’t care if I’m driven insane
To the point where deep anger is hard to contain?
Livid hallucination is tempered surreal
And played out in atrocity for full impact.

People don’t carry buttons that they press at will
To control my emotions for better or worse.
That’s a bit of fake news I can live well without.
Human nature is troublesome without a doubt.
If someone else could control me, that would be a curse.
I alone push my buttons with unconscious skill.

I control how I feel. That’s a good thing to know
And to remind myself of more often than not.
I’ve a fondness for fooling with switches and dials.
I shall mess with my own and then generate smiles.
No one can make me angry, and they shouldn’t ought.
Since I know I control myself, I’m good to go.

Grow Your Intelligence

TheMagicRealist.com

The mind wants to believe things. It knows it cannot,
Because things worth believing are those of the heart.
What the intellect does is it helps us get by,
And the healthier it is, the less we will try.
If it tries to hold credence, it may fall apart
Or become quite the monkey and manic in thought.

The mind is made to know things it cannot believe,
Even though there’s a limit to what it can know.
It can know this is so even though there’s no proof
Because that comes through feeling – not being aloof
When expressing our thoughts as they leisurely flow.
The mind is good for focusing what we perceive.

Intellect is magnetic, induced to the brain
By the source of all knowing. Like leaves of the tree
Taking sunlight, the brain takes in all it can get.
As it gets what it needs, it will know no regret.
What we learn from our source is to know how to be
In the real world without fear and with little strain.

How Does Karma Work?

TheMagicRealist.com

Esoteric in nature, or simple logic…?
Karma has much to do with the way that I feel.
It determines not what circumstances I’ll make
But how I will get through them with little heartache.
The observer knows not what the truth may reveal.
The ‘poor’ leper may feel that life is a picnic.

The child brings it upon himself that he is born
With deformity? It’s not as simple as that.
Karma teaches his parents with him as its aid.
What they learn from him then is to not be afraid
For there’s nothing but ego that we need combat.
It along with the intellect instigates scorn.

When the mind is not active in such a big way
Then the decision making engine is at rest.
I may function by impulse and tendency well
And accrue not much karma nor catch any hell.
Life is fragile beyond what can be best expressed.
To know this more completely for now is to pray.

The News. Its Time Being Now.

TheMagicRealist.com

Here Jalad at the news desk. His mouth open wide.
Galahad with his greeting. His service to king.
Gathered up on the weekend. Bo Peep with her sheep.
Having scattered them worldwide. Her time put to sleep.
Bringing all that is newsworthy. Tweety Bird sing.
On the rock of Gibraltar. His heart filled with pride.

The top story the beanstalk. Jack taking his climb.
His mind sure and determined. His focus direct.
Too much wit for the giant. His head a migraine.
The way journalists speak now can drive me insane.
His ears hearing plain English that does not respect
Basic speaking rules. Behold the new paradigm.

His mind back on the news now from just a short rant.
Frankenstein at the meth lab. His day getting long.
Back to Sesame Street. Big Bird feathered in fame.
Then, Shaka, when the walls fell! They speak not the same.
Goldilocks when the rules change. Is she the one wrong?
Alice stuck in the rabbit hole. News rabbit can’t.

Live A Fantastic Life

TheMagicRealist.com

Life’s a cruise in the fun lane, at least when we’re young.
Not a care will become those of innocent heart.
There’s no responsibility but for the Now
Ever present and meaningful. Children know how
To make any dull moment a daring new start.
It’s the eternal spirit from which they have sprung.

We advance to the fast lane at some point in life.
Education and training accrued over time
Bring positions of power to implement change
In the conduct of others. This is nothing strange.
When we’re feeling delightful, to share that is prime.
But when we’re feeling badly, we’ll instigate strife.

So, can life on the fast track bring on some distress
On occasion? We know that it will, and it should.
Our well-built physiology and thinking minds
Give us reason to live well, as with other kinds
In complete multiplicity, as in childhood.
Simply being alive is a joy to express.

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.