Tag Archive | new age

Venus And Mars

TheMagicRealist.com

There’s a thing about gender folks tend to get wrong.
People mix it with sex and get very confused.
Gender is of mechanics and hardwired ways.
Sex is something that’s done to give nature its praise
In the spirit of sharing. Sometimes it’s abused.
It depends upon how well lovers get along.

We’ve all heard of the concept of Venus and Mars.
It’s often understood as collections of things.
Nice and Nasty, they’re labeled and sung to the young.
Ignorance is society’s most fluent tongue.
But the two planets mentioned are all that hope brings.
Throughout eons we’ve extracted truth from the stars.

 Nice and Nasty…  parochial as Black and White…
Conjures up silly imagery then becomes part
Of collective unconscious desire to pass
The buck of the wisdom that we might amass.
All of life is a consequence of Will and Heart
Carried out in full drama often with delight.

The Sieve That I Live

TheMagicRealist.com

I don’t know where I’m leaking nor do I know why
What goes in and goes out of me I can’t believe
Makes that much of a difference in what I am.
Yet I do feel I’m part of a vital program
Of some kind. And the people who use me may leave
With a sense of fulfillment. So, why then can’t I?

I believe I am stainless, though not made of steel.
Life does not happen to me but for me instead
So that when by my handling impatience collides
With the will of establishment life then provides
Opportunity to recoup and move ahead.
There’s some sense of suspension in all that I feel.

Sometimes I feel the stuff of life, gross in its form,
Saturate deep within me. I engage the flow.
Do I make the decision which cup I’m dipped in?
Or does life absolutely condemn me to sin?
Are these questions I dare ask? Or should I just know
It is best that the water not become lukewarm?

Harmony

Can I speak of world peace from a heart that may doubt
It could come about ever? For granted it’s true
That I must feel harmonious from deep within
Before I go crusading to cast away sin.
Even if I could do that, it belittles you
In a way that my fervor renders me devout.

Do not look up to anyone and don’t look down
On another who’s made of the same stuff I am.
Don’t put folks on a pedestal where they may fall
And do not disrespect others I feel are small.
If it’s such a tall order, is it an exam
Where I am to be noticed should I wear a frown?

I can get really pissed off and livid with rage.
Other folks also have the volition to fight
In acute preservation of identity.
Does an eye for an eye cause each other to see
That our precious illusions can never be right?
Habits formed over decades are so hard to change.

We can all live in harmony. There’s no such thing
As a global solution. All begins with me
And with each of my species. We’ve evolved thus far
Toward potential magnificence. That’s who we are.
And often I forget that. Well… Oh, golly gee.
May my emancipation help make the world sing.

TRANSACTION DECLINED!

TheMagicRealist.com

Your account has been locked! You’ve been paying your bills
And we don’t like to see it. Suspicious is that
The most recent activity these past few days
Tells us that you’ve been spending in flamboyant ways.
Don’t you know we’re your parents, you poor little brat?
We’re at service to fuck with your life for cheap thrills.

It’s too bad it’s the weekend. We aren’t alive now.
Although you may be, we cease existence at five
Every Friday, then come back on Monday at nine.
You can hold your breath that long. Things will work out fine.
Even though it’s your money, we’ve right to deprive
Access to it at anytime fate may allow.

So, you’re stuck at the cashier? TRANSACTION DECLINED!
That should get your blood pumping and loosen that bowel.

Now, just give us a call. We WILL keep you on hold
Then interrogate you with an attitude bold.
We’ve succeeded when we sense that your mood is foul.
And in step with your credit score, you are defined.

Oh, you don’t speak Tagalog nor can understand
Foreign accents uttered over bad connections
From a call center thousands of miles from your mind?
We don’t have to remind you you’re of the wrong kind
To speak with us directly, as we are the ones
Who depend upon others to market our brand.

Popularia Febrifica

TheMagicRealist.com

The most Popular Fever afflicting the souls
And the hearts of some women who’ve reached middle age
Is concern for the herbal as a remedy
For related discomfort. Some indulge in tea
Hoping that lofty promises are a true gauge
Of their product’s effectiveness and of its goals.

It can be in Pueraria if it’s the best
And exotically cared for by smart native elves
Who imprint their indigenous blessings upon
Every magical fiber from midnight ‘til dawn.
What we would call Mirific, they would not themselves.
To remember the names of things is the big test.

One can bang out an aria on a keyboard.
It could be that Pueraria is a mistake
Because taking it may wreak some havoc, at worse.
To the volatile body it could be a curse.
When it’s safe to experiment for one’s own sake
Then wellbeing for all women will be restored.

A Living

TheMagicRealist.com

What I do for a living is cast to the wind
Every breath I am given. I breathe every day.
Some may say that’s not working. It earns not a wage.
But we all are paid actors upon the world stage.
Everyone makes a living by breathing their way
To the ultimate calling that one can’t rescind.

Do we choose our professions or do they choose us
Through a whirlwind of circumstance factored from fate?
Some are so well advised as to what they should do
That they end up bewildered because they aren’t true
To their true heart’s desire. This doesn’t feel great.
One becomes in a short time an ornery cuss.

Take you breath for a living and give back your best.
The earth’s plants will respect you and give in return
What you need for maintaining. If you call that pay
Then the earth will support you in every which way.
Only if you stop breathing should there be concern.
What I do for a living is know that I’m blessed.

Infinite Speed

TheMagicRealist.com

One can think of the infinite in terms of speed.
It’s a concept so pregnant with possible change
That the study of human behavior can be
Broken down into basics that most can agree
Form a framework where no concept is seen as strange.
Human consciousness, when it’s bound, wants to be freed.

Any unified theory worth most of its salt
Has precise explanations for everything known.
Puzzle pieces are processed and put into place
To explain all there is to a bored human race.
I’ve come up with a theory. I guess it’s home grown.
That I am not a physicist am I at fault?

If a something of any kind travels so fast
That there is nothing faster, then does it make sense
That it does exist everywhere and all the time?
And if so, would that make singularity prime?
There is only one actor designed to dispense
Its expressive identity through the whole cast.

What Manner Of Cule

TheMagicRealist.com

When caught up in the minuscule one must take note
That a cule can minus but nothing much more.
There’s no word such as pluscule. This should give us pause.
Bigness has no derivative in grammar laws.
Among adjectives equality we ignore
As a consequence of the outlook we promote.

Many words have a culeness about them these days
Thanks in part to advances in science. There are
Cules of every variety, way, shape and form
Punctuating perceptions. They’ve become the norm.
Cule can also mean cute and cool. It’s a bizarre
Little word that means both. So, in short, it is praise.

Any self-righteous wordsmith considers the cule
A suffix of some suffrage. Narrowness takes
A long time to flush through what evolves of our speech.
Language can be machinelike. It can also teach
People how to think critically for their own sakes
And those of those who feel that they are no one’s fool.

Inescapable Ease

TheMagicRealist.com

People can suffer burnout from doing too much.
At the point of exhaustion some choose to go on
Until illness becomes a part of the whole mix.
Doctors’ pills and procedures are peddled to fix
That which has become broken. Conclusions foregone
Demonstrate how we’ve shifted from nature and such.

As is so of our bodies, the earth is alive.
Inescapable Ease is her method of choice.
As she meditates for a brief time everyday
Many creatures upon her will see it her way.
Every part of her body can feel her rejoice.
We can make what we want of our quest to survive.

Nationalistic notions devolve, in due course
Of their own lack of life force, to pathology
Of the mind, heart and spirit. So, do take the time
To invest in serenity and life sublime.
Take the load off the overworked secondary
Winding of you transformer and get with your source.

Any Jesus In Ya?

TheMagicRealist.com

Jesus is not a genie who comes from a lamp
In the form of frankincense, smoky and obscure
Nor does he hang in churches disguised as a flame.
All our vessels are magic lamps. We are the same.
Jesus makes himself known through the heart that is pure
And knows nothing of winning although he’s a champ.

Jesus was not a ‘good’ man. He pissed people off!
A major source of disruption he was to all
Who were tied to the ruling regime of that day.
Otherwise, he was wonderful. He’d often pray
And do magic by healing folks until his fall.
Anything heard about him made mean people scoff.

That he does live within us is nonsense to some
And to others, nothing could be further from truth.
All that is esoteric is rooted in fact.
There is conscious decision in how people act.
Does it make sense to seek out a sayer of sooth
When there is but one’s rigidness to overcome?

Quincunx – Quoutcunx

TheMagicRealist.com

Is it Quoutcunx or Quincunx? Surely the mind spunks
As it struggles with the occult art of the stars.
To clear up the confusion I loathe to indulge
An infusion of something that makes the brain bulge.
I know that since my Pluto is square to my Mars,
My ego is cast into precarious funks.

Every moment exists as a snapshot in time.
The cosmos is a mobile suspended by grace
Of a great force, perhaps through its conscious intent
To set into slow motion a massive event.
Observations through eons recorders retrace.
They re-correlate happenings when times are prime.

What goes into a horoscope is lots of care
To decipher the moment in question for those
Who need some reassurance that life makes some sense.
There is no need to come to this odd art’s defense.
When in search of self-knowledge, I do not oppose
Some commitment to study. That is only fair.

A Fatter Of Mact

TheMagicRealist.com

Is the mact of the fatter that it is in need
Of explaining itself to the mind inside out?
Keystrokes built from a mirror reflecting the soul
Differentiate sameness from parts of the whole.
Is the brain not so wired the one we should doubt,
Or the one that is normal and of a good breed?

The brain processes images like the birds fly.
All of one mind, in unison, they are a force
Of unfettered fluidity. Some break away
On their own and quite often. So, who is to say
That the way people see things, as matter of course,
Is a lethal indictment that they can’t deny.

People see eye to eye only when they want to.
It’s a free will decision. We can educate
And in turn seek our own knowing from the vast whole
Of an in-touch humanity. What is my goal?
Could it be just to say things and stir up debate?
Intent moves me to action and will to pursue.

Undying Devotion To Life

TheMagicRealist.com

The new baby is home now. She’s such a delight.
The old home is made new again. All is aglow.
Just to hold her is heavenly. A magic charm
She becomes to the family. She will disarm
Built up concern about her that she shouldn’t know.
Through our focus upon her we do what is right.

As she’s seen as the highest lifeform in the home
All around are enlightened. Wellbeing takes hold.
New life makes the world healthy. Can this one debate?
Anyone who would do so is mired in hate.
The birth of an idea innocently bold
Is the chance for fulfillment and freedom to roam.

Earth gives birth to all living things. This we all know.
Can we call ourselves ‘precious?’ Why even go there?
Keep the bullshit subconscious and buried with Freud
Because when that stuff surfaces folks get annoyed.
The earth is super-consciousness, just to be fair.
Our devotion to living makes living things grow.

Asleep At The Urinal

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

Difference And Remainder

TheMagicRealist.com

Difference And Remainder – two separate words,
One is used in subtraction. The other, reserved
For division, can offer confusion for some
But not so difficult it can’t be overcome.
Since in math, all distinctions must be well observed,
It is best to respect them – at least for the nerds.

Difference between minuend and subtrahend
Is the heart of one matter. Words aim to make sense.
So, the minuend is the big number on top
Though it can be the small one but it does not drop
To the bottom. It will not commit that offense.
That which is to be taken is what we suspend.

Now, there could be a difference that still remains.
But remainders are leftovers from the process
Of division when all grouping is not exact.
What remains may be wanted or banished from fact.
Differences are treated, then, just a tad less
Than remainders. Is this why the weary child strains?

Death Of A Pixel

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

The Thirst Of Theodore Thlitlinger

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

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

Rainy Days And Mondays

TheMagicRealist.com

…Talking to myself but feeling sane.
Some days there is no sun.
Does that mean I can’t have fun?
…Stuck for a while, but it doesn’t cramp my style.
Rainy Days And Mondays Always Make Me Smile.

What I’ve got I would not care to know.
People mostly don’t like rain.
I delight in the mundane.
Is this exile? Then so is my Facebook profile.
Rainy Days An Mondays Always Make Me Smile.

…Funny but it seems that weather can’t be predicted with ease.
…Nice to know there’s human error.
Unrequited flames may rekindle as raindrops concede to appease.
Solitude is the preparer.

It’s a blessed day. I could not ask for more.
People tend to stay inside.
With their own stuff they’re preoccupied.
I am an isle. It doesn’t mean that I am hostile.
Rainy Days An Mondays Always Make Me Smile.

No Toga Yoga

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s been vogue to take yoga as something to spread
Like a condiment onto the cusp of the soul.
Yoga is something once taught by only a few.
Nowadays anyone with a promise will do
For attaining enlightenment. This is the goal
Of the one who is captive inside of one’s head.

It is quite irresponsible to seek someone
Or some book or a video. These are the wares
That evolve because people must sell to survive.
Some may be underhanded with will to connive.
Yoga takes much commitment from the one who cares
That the practice embarked upon won’t be undone.

The industrial era gave birth to great change.
Scientific development grew at a pace
To where there was much quackery. Science became
Something scoffed at tainted. This brought science shame.
Clarity and strict discipline has regained grace.
Now there is much consensus on what is called strange.

To be calm in the spirit and have peace of mind
And of body is everyone’s ultimate quest.
But the old ones who’ve mastered this lifelong technique
Are unfortunately not who most people seek.
One proceeds well in life when one is not obsessed
With someone with a blindness who’s leading the blind.

A Funny Story

TheMagicRealist.com

Once an old couple, well off and filled with desire,
Took a journey that most folks would only dream of.
So from Texas they traveled to Jerusalem,
Not to tear up the town with terror and mayhem,
But to visit the place where Jesus lived in love.
This is something to which many people aspire.

Every cobblestone there bleeds with much history.
It is so called the Holy Land because it’s where
Things took place that define religions of today.
Is it not a fine city where most people prey
As they do back in Texas? No one can declare
That it’s no place of interest. There’s so much to see.

But, unfortunately, to the old man’s remorse,
His dear partner of so many years passed away.
He prepared, as expected, to take her back home.
But the locals, insistent as old saint Jerome,
Tried their best to convince him to chill out and stay.
He rejected their efforts in earnest, of course.

On and on they kept trying… “Do bury her here.
One would think it an honor to come here to die.
Your dear mate has done wisely. This place has become
Economically vibrant. For just a small sum
We’ll take care of your wife. So, there’s no reason why
You should disrupt her destiny all due to fear.”

The old man remained steadfast as strongly they pled.
They could not understand his defiance. Indeed,
They were utterly baffled, so they asked him why.
He replied, “I believe if a person should die
Then the one they’re attached to is suddenly freed.
If I get her to Texas, I’m sure she’ll stay dead.”

Be Becoming!

TheMagicRealist.com

Be Becoming! The summing of all I become
Can be looked at in ways that defy status quo.
There’s no need for believing the world is a mess.
My own life force and consciousness, I must confess,
Can at times overcome me and all that I know.
I can be life its damned self or under its thumb!

 Sometimes people are speed bumps. I need to slow down
When I see others that way, although it feels right.
If I rush them, my own ride is bumpy – not theirs.
And when they reprimand me, I feel no one cares.
Surely as it will happen, I’m good for a fight
But when I get defensive, I look like a clown.

Things don’t need to be taken so personally.
That is why there is passive voice. No entity
Nor subconscious collective can single me out
To remind me that I do exist, without doubt.
I shall keep on becoming, as long as I’m me,
And providing some selfhood for others to see.

Indemnity Of Class

TheMagicRealist.com

Can my class be protected form free open air
In aspect desolation? No students appear
To take in a good lesson. There’s no one in sight.
Are we well educated yet ready to fight
For what seems to be obviously so austere
That there can be no learning? Who needs to take care?

I was raised in a middle class black family.
Has this any significance? Or is it just
Digitized information fed to the class bank?
If the answer is frightful, then who do I thank?
There’s an aspect to power. It is judgement lust.
The great teacher, when I’m ready, I’ll clearly see.

We can’t all see the same way. That wouldn’t be fair.
Humankind’s evolution is steeped in process
With the creative spirit we make and we break
Any rules that we need to for survival’s sake.
Distribution of judgement is meant to oppress.
Those who have only class only have that to share.

I’m Rich, Therefore I Am

TheMagicRealist.com

I embrace my entitlement. It’s my birthright.
And in line with my heritage I do exist
To take charge and to conquer all that I behold.
Anyone with a dark past can be bought or sold.
I feel nothing of conscience, in fact I insist
That we all take up arms and engage in the fight.

And with wealth comes great wisdom and platform to rule.
Even with no experience I may fair well
In a post yeti showdown in stark sabotage
To the plans of all others. Wealth is a mirage
That depicts something meaningful in the hard sell.
Yet a rich yeti encore would make you the fool.

I shall know that my being, deficient of soul,
Does my best to emboss me and make all seem real.
Since I could have most anything, why don’t I chill?
Maybe I’m just a rich prick who dicks for the thrill.
There’s no doubt that my money can draw much appeal
And endorsement. This all is the heart of my goal.

Bowel Tetris

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

Jealousy

TheMagicRealist.com

If my friend does not do well, then should I feel bad?
I could feel just the same if she’s doing just fine.
So however she’s doing, I am at a loss
Should events quite outside me present the coin’s toss
That determines how I feel? And do I define
All that goes on around me as happy or sad?

I’m the sole CEO of a small company.
Am I wise and efficient with management skills
Regarding my own feelings and ways I behave?
Or do others ensnare me and make me their slave?
Is it that human nature is based upon thrills
A good reason to indulge incompetently?

One point two three percent of a gene-scape we are
From the humble chimpanzee. I take a step back
When I act out or withhold in bitter contempt.
And because I am human I am not exempt
From moments of mismanagement and self-attack.
A small rip in the genes will not leave a big scar.

Sustainable Future

TheMagicRealist.com

Our ecology is not a subject in school.
It’s our means of existence. Connection we’ve lost
With what is most important – that which sustains life.
If we’d just pay attention we’d mitigate strife.
If our minds may be opened to truth at all cost
We may offer the future something that is cool.

We see most things as opposites. Ecology
And Economy are the two parts of the same
Basic function of living. Business can be kind
And compliant with nature. This shift in the mind
Would do much on our part to ward of an end game
That includes our extinction most definitely.

Degradation of soil is a most urgent threat.
We cannot artificially fertilize land
With toxic anti-substances forever more.
At some point, nature hits back and evens the score.
Soil enriches through decay, as nature had planned.
Perhaps we will outsmart her but we haven’t yet.

We see spirit and nature as separate things.
They are not. They’re combined as the eb in the flow.
Leaders must become conscious outside of self needs.
Righteousness in the heart of the leader who leads
With a sense of inclusiveness and will to grow
Is what is surely needed. Therein goodness rings.

It’s not up to our leaders alone to take part
In the business of living. We each play a role
In the work of our government. Democracy
Means wholehearted involvement in how things should be.
Through cooperation we can reach any goal.
Within every new moment there is a fresh start.

Take Care Of Yourself

TheMagicRealist.com

Whose red, white and blue uncle is drunk and obscene?
And am I without parents? Who has custody
Of the way I am feeling all throughout my day?
It is I alone who causes myself dismay.
When I choose to see clearly, much better I’ll be
At behaving and maintaining mental hygiene.

Who tells me what to wear and what foods I should eat?
No one else on earth does that. It is only me.
I would be but a mere slave if this were not so.
All that takes place within me is all that I know
So my own thoughts and feelings should be just as free
From control by whoever I happen to meet.

I’ll admit I know nothing, nor does anyone,
Of the things most external. They are of debate.
They cannot up and make me something that I’m not.
I don’t feel I’m involved in a sinister plot.
What is real for me simply is what I create
As I take care of myself ‘til my time is done.

Sicker Hickory Dock

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

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

Dummy Load

TheMagicRealist.com

So now what’s the next theory? This one didn’t work
Like I damned well expected. At least it makes sense.
I have tremendous output, but it doesn’t reach,
Through the airwaves abundant, the world I beseech.
Is there off-time reserved for the load who repents?
Any semblance of feedback for me is a perk.

When at all I’m turned on and transmitting, I feel
Like a well-tuned transceiver with standard high gain
And acute sensitivity to frequencies,
Sometimes sanguine and subtle to put folks at ease.
Could the truth be that I have been rendered insane
By believing that what I say is a big deal?

Dummy loads are transceivers who do so alone
With themselves and no others – not in the small room.
Those with voice of high wattage are heard peak to peak
By those who digest carefully all that they speak.
Feeling hot like a dummy load, does passion fume
Even though interaction is not to be shown?

I will just keep transmitting, perhaps in the blind,
And receiving what’s out there. Might I be there too?
After all, what I want is only within me.
Am I fortunate that I can finally see
The stark difference absent between me and you?
To myself and to others, I should be more kind.

How I Think Is How I Feel

TheMagicRealist.com

If I think like I give a fuck how come I feel
Obsolete in my usefulness to humankind?
Is my thinking fallacious? Does it sound profane?
With my thoughts in a bad place, ‘damned right I feel pain!
I would not be a thing to which thoughts are assigned
Nor a non-willing subject resigned to ordeal.

If I think someone’s wonderful I cannot hold
Deep resentment toward that person, nor can I think
Someone’s awful and have feelings of sheer delight
For that person. Indeed, I may be prone to fight.
But often it so happens I am out of sync
With my thoughts and my feelings. This makes me grow old.

It is this fluctuation within mind and heart
When one acts, in my judgement, not in a kind way,
Pent up feelings can’t turn on a dime and concur.
Might adjusting my thinking do much to deter
Out-of-phase oscillations that may screw my day?
I have choice in the matter. I need not take part.

Taking part in existing is simple enough
When I take not for granted all things as they are.
Life will be as it will be. I am as I am.
A possessed algorithm within a program
In a system of consciousness, I’ve not strayed far
From the nerve I am given to call my own bluff.

Surrender Yourself

TheMagicRealist.com

When one speaks of surrender, what does the word mean?
Passing from limitations of one dimension
To the ones of another… That seems to be fair
In describing the need to be lighter than air.
Giving in to a good thing is most often fun
Otherwise, if it’s stressful, no freedom is seen.

And we do value freedom more than we may know.
We will slither through filth and scale difficult heights
To hold on to what everyone claims as a right.
If we feel we’re restricted, we will get uptight.
Challenge to basic rights is the cause of most fights
So the best thing to do is to go with the flow.

In this physical form there are gates I won’t pass.
But becoming inane in an unbridled way
And in no way conditional is, I may find,
A wisely prescribed method to settle the mind.
When to know to surrender is but mine to say.
Between feeling and knowing, there is no crevasse.

The Shoes People Choose

TheMagicRealist.com

When some people are wealthy they tend to buy shoes.
It’s a faint curiosity as with most things.
But for sole reinforcement it is but a farce –
An insult to the poor one whose wardrobe is sparse.
Incomplete satisfaction self-indulgence brings
To flamboyantly rich ones compelled to abuse.

Our feet must have protection. The soles must be tough
To defend well the tenderness of the bare feet.
Our lives must have fulfillment or else we will feel
That we have not a reason to deal with what’s real.
Nothing beats the reality of sheer conceit
Intertwined with our natures. We can’t get enough.

To master economics and stay in the black
Or to tread life in true work – which path is more wise?
Shoes require some polishing. They’re prone to wear.
If some look at my shoes I don’t need them to stare.
They may speak of my status. They are not a prize.
They get me where I’m going, and I don’t keep track.

Dealing With Insecurity

TheMagicRealist.com

I believe in telepathy though I have mind
To curse others who have it because I do not.
If I’m not good with social cues, why am I here?
Since I am so disabled, should I live in fear?
Hanging tight to my own tree, I’m destined to rot.
Life would be a breeze if human nature were kind.

Am I out of my element? Which would that be?
The same one that we all are suspended within?
Why can’t I see what happens the way that you do?
Are we kids on the playground where I have no clue?
I feel so damned transparent and riddled with sin.
I sequester an anger that may become me.

Is there any way out of this confounded mess
Surely of my creation? I should not forget
That I’m here to experience – not to avoid
But a measure of wonder. All will be destroyed
At some point in existence. I feel not regret.
There is nothing to gain nor lose, therefore why stress?

I’m A Christian

TheMagicRealist.com

Can’t you tell I’m a Christian? I only do right.
With my face bright and holy I edify God.
He and I are best buddies. He gives me his word
Then I act out in ways in which I had preferred
All the while feigning praises as those close applaud.
I’m a Christian, and I know damned well how to fight.

But with who am I fighting? God points out the ones
Who deserve condescension and my holy wrath.
Controlled women, more guns and straight sex is a must
Unless I’m made a preacher immune to distrust.
The direction I choose is always the right path.
I’m a bible technician whose mind has the runs.

What you do is my business, dear brother in Christ.
It’s made clear in the document, therefore repent.
We shall sing halleluiah together Sundays
Then right after revert to the usual craze.
To identify that which can cause ill content
Is a God given talent, and not highly priced.

How To Make Sense Of A Handful Of Wind

TheMagicRealist.com

One with pregnant unseemingly birthed from a tree
No command of a semblance ensnares proper thought
Cast off feelings deterred amid marble in flight
Would be shrouded in wonder if nothing went right
Carried apples with caramel never store bought
Leaves a fine world to marry for just you and me

Right upside the sick poodle can a noodle bite
Like a flea-bitten flood hound defaced and made odd
To the ear that discerns all that has to take place
In a foul fisted hammer enrolled in a race
To the finishing rainbow who’d give not a nod
So selectively sequined soul sturgeons seek sight

Sadly salt savers surely since sugar sanguine
Says that all who may master the muster made mild
One can know that one knows not all that one has known
Throughout eons existing one has not a throne
Where as one sits upon it one must become wild
Even though not long winded the hands are just fine

A Danger To Self Or Others

TheMagicRealist.com

I do not what to be here. I’ll cut to the chase
And the heart of the truth about being alive.
To be made to feel gratitude is servitude
To the aspects of nature that make creatures rude.
So, how come there are apes now? Or did we contrive
Our cosmetic comparisons to praise our race?

We are doomed to the drama. We can’t get along.
Neither pair nor two dozen or whole nations full
Of a vain human species can hope to be kind
To all persons at all times. This serves to remind
Me that life has no meaning and bull has much pull.
Latency becomes blatant with numbness to wrong.

Are we bored? Then let’s argue. It’s all just a game
That we may end up making a fight to the death.
Don’t you dare disrespect me whoever you are.
I don’t like being human. That should leave a scar
On the face of psychosis ‘til its dying breath.
That I’m still here and breathing, I do take the blame.

We are locked in our corners. We each have our views
Of how things must be looked at. This is a good thing.
It will grow to infect us and hasten our will
To engage self-destruction unto nature’s thrill.
If I weren’t feeling dangerous you’d hear me sing
Like a sick sack of suds who has nothing to lose.

Approaching Death With Grace

TheMagicRealist.com

When someone we know dies it’s as if a big piece
Of our own life is suddenly taken away.
Most get through the process of their grieving with grace.
Still there is a deep sorrow that time may erase.
Yet we know this will happen to all life someday.
Every life that we know of will at some time cease.

 Life decides when to leave us. We have not the choice
When it should or it shouldn’t. We will, while alive,
Try our best to sustain it. At birth we inhale
And at death we exhale. Nature’s law does prevail.
From the moment of being we’re here to survive
So the last thing to do here would be to rejoice.

We’re all dying through living in this time and place.
If I stop to examine the life I live now
Can I see death as part of life and be content
In the process of being? I feel we were meant
To embrace our mortality and to allow
Life to spend a brief time here and then leave in grace.

Successful Introvert

TheMagicRealist.com

How dependent on labels our lives have become.
Confusing exhalation with inhalation
In the midst of one’s breathing is how one behaves
When engaging delusion. It only enslaves.
One’s direction is set only by intention
But one must take the journey and celebrate some.

No such thing as an introvert or extrovert
Does exist in reality – only in thought.
Some of us feel the need to stand up and take charge
While some others are not so inclined, by and large.
So they’re not using twitter. Contentment is sought
In their own way of life with no will to assert.

No conclusions are needed to identify
What I see right before me with an open mind
And clear vision of what only I can provide.
In pursuit of the outcome, process is denied.
As I’m focused and engaged, I am more inclined
To be much more successful than fate would imply.

Forest In The Trees

TheMagicRealist.com

There’s an awfully big picture. I’m told this is so.
They do call it a forest. I only see trees.
And each one monolithic is massive and whole.
What is outside the forest I cannot control
Nor all that which is inside. My mind clearly sees
Conflagration of detail with passion to grow.

I can move about freely. I make my own path.
I may meet other travelers and test their ways.
The big picture within the big picture, it seems,
Is the one I’m accustomed to because it teems
With more that I can handle in all of my days
Pondering its beginning and grand aftermath.

Somewhat safe in the forest, I should take some care
That the trees I encounter are worthy or not
Of wholehearted attention. The world then becomes
Not an unfriendly jungle where beating the drums
Of resentment can too often get one’s ass shot.
There are so many pathways that lead to despair.

Hoboken Hobo

TheMagicRealist.com

The Hobo from Hoboken has nowhere to go
Knowing he has no future nor past – only now.
He has time to consider mistakes he has made
While all others just like him are made in the shade.
The man does not feel lazy with sweat on his brow.
And for all his hard work he has nothing to show.

He’s the Hoboken Hobo who’s broken and beat
To the pavement from competition in the race.
Certainly there are others, but he is the one
Who is seldom believed in. No growth has begun
In his long run attempting to keep up the pace
As the corporation aims to crank up the heat.

Perhaps not quite outspoken, the Hoboken man
Is a token identity too often seen
Not on billboards across our divine fruited plains
But in urban streets where disillusion remains.
Is it fair that society is a machine?
Ask the Hoboken Hobo who has not a plan.

Make A Decision You Won’t Regret

TheMagicRealist.com

To identify dreams, goals and aspirations
Is to be a fine citizen worthy of praise.
What I did twenty years ago is not the same
As what I’m doing now. And by that I proclaim
That my dreams may entrap me in manifold ways.
Maybe I should have heeded my wise older ones.

Take a break from distraction and influences
That surround me, and take a long look deep inside
To discover what moves me. This way, I am told,
Is the way to choose rightfully that which is gold.
Quite unlike personality fettered in pride,
My true calling is absent of all weaknesses.

When you make a decision, do so from the heart.
Personality means that persona is fused
To the person. Indeed, I must pry it away.
If I leave it stuck to me all throughout the day
It becomes ineffective and then self-abused.
When it comes to your choosing, let spirit take part.

Wake Me When The Witch Is Dead

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s a good life in Kansas. I’d rather stay here
Than be knocked quite unconscious and grabbed by the house
To be dropped on a brick road of red, white and blue.
I engage with the storyline and as I do
Its perverse, wicked witchery I will espouse.
The suspense, a surreal thing, is rooted in fear.

I would be called a munchkin if I left my state
Of alignment with selfhood and lightness of heart.
In the dreamworld we see technicolor as real.
There’s a hint of nostalgia in how people feel
About wizards who strive not to drive folks apart.
Does this tale have a climax? We’ll just have to wait.

But while waiting, do I care to watch the grass grow
Through the cracks in the pavement? That wouldn’t seem wise.
I know that the big city is glittered in green
And the folks who play games there can play rather mean.
To be bored with the world dream comes as no surprise.
Wake me when it’s all over. I may want to know.

Operating System Corrupted

TheMagicRealist.com

Get in touch with the enemy. Model their acts
And make sure that their vanities can be controlled.
As their ways are well studied one can gain access
To their innermost workings. Their minds are a mess!
They will sell you their secrets for trinkets, we’re told.
Easily they are driven by alternate facts.

They believe in their system. We must do the same.
Though we raise much suspicion, no one will respond
In enough time to stop us dead cold in our tracks.
As we screw them, their journalists air our attacks.
Those who matter are impotent and tend to bond
With whoever is dominant. They have no shame.

Easily they’re corruptible, gaping in awe.
In slow motion, explosiveness looks like a dream.
As it happens in real time, is real damage done?
They will speak all about the man holding the gun
As he shoots at them. Not even thinking to scream,
They’re a curious system confounded in flaw.

Whiteface

TheMagicRealist.com

Does America have a big whiteface again?
Or can we ever have one that all can call ours?
Do we seem like a friend to bewildered allies?
Has the fate of our statehood become someone’s prize?
Is it likely that we are now governed by czars?
Do we act out in whiteface like proud gentlemen?

What’s the state of creation in our nation now?
Is it one of relationship or battle cries?
We’re at war with our damned selves! No thing leads us on
Like rekindled resentment from which hope is drawn.
We’re a state in a state of most lethal white lies.
We could redeem ourselves if we only knew how.

We depend on our dough-people maybe so much
That we think they aren’t human. Therefore, the machine
Of self-government needs a full check of its gears.
But it is somewhat human. It does shed its tears.
Absolute in snow whiteness, much chaos is seen
And the heat of our drama is cold to the touch.

Why Am I Stressed?

TheMagicRealist.com

Do not work, and don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.
You may be under pressure but make no mistake.
I will clothe you and feed you and give you a roof.
One who’d make such a promise is made of disproof.

If my thinking is heavy and clearly opaque
Is there anything worthwhile that I can then do?

Can I sit and be blissful alone in one place
For a brief march of minutes? That should not be hard.
If it is, then it means only one sundry thing.
I have not done what is necessary to bring
Simple mindfulness back into proper regard.
If the masses can’t do that, is that a disgrace?

Like the fragrance of jasmine on life’s summer breeze
I’ve no choice but to linger until lingering
Dissipates in completion of purpose assigned.
What I’m thinking and feeling are so intertwined
That I can’t blame another for what life may bring.
On that basis, can I put my stressing at ease?

Head Or Heart

TheMagicRealist.com

Head and heart are two totally separate things.
What is seen on the surface also is within.
We alone complicate things. The creatures of wild
See all life as one simple thing – much like a child,
But with intent well focused. I’ll dare to begin
A statement of inquiry as if it has wings.

Can the heart speak of anything? I would think not.
It just wants to keep blood flowing. That is its job.
It need not be articulate – only steadfast
That its date with my breathing will not be its last.
Now, there are quite a few things that make the heart throb.
People could say it’s speaking then. I’d say they ought.

The heart has only two sounds: Dub-Lub and Dub-Lub.
Only on rare occasion does it verbalize

In an aberrant manner. But, unlike the brain,
Nothing can happen to it to drive it insane.
If I came to believe that the heart can be wise
Would that mean I’d be giving my poor brain the snub?

Meditation is not interrupted by thought.
I would not ask the kidneys nor liver to cease
Their sustaining their function as peace do I seek.
It’s refreshing to learn that all organs do speak
In the language they’re used to. The mindful release
Of the unwanted chatter is then what is sought.

Wisdom, Meditation And Bliss

TheMagicRealist.com

Mysticism means exploration into things
That I have not the knowledge of – so far, so good.
Everything that I know not, I can’t understand.
If I find one with wisdom and peacefulness grand,
Is that person anointed with true guruhood?
Is what I know that others don’t worthy of wings?

If I lost all my assets and felt quite depressed
My mind would try to trick me into true demise.
But if I held my breath for two minutes, I’m sure
That abundantly free air would act as the cure
For my habit of teetering on compromise
Of my spirit. Sometimes, it’s adversely expressed.

 The most sophisticated machinery here,
The unique human body is of pure design.
Yet it can be encumbered with high maintenance.
That appears true for most folks and seems to make sense.
Living totally means that there is no deadline
When it comes to engaging all that we hold dear.

Mow The Grass, Tyson!

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

Compassion And Virtue

TheMagicRealist.com

When I do not identify with anything,
Then in absolute virtue my living will be.
I am filled with compassion for all that exists…
Even those who, in blindness, are flailing their fists.
Only when not identifying can I see
What I may have to offer. What peace may I bring?

People are sympathetic to some noble cause.
But in being so biased, compassion declines
For all else not identified with what we love.
Therein lies some resentment. Can we get rid of
Unbecoming behavior? The heart undermines
The intent to think clearly from adequate pause.

When compassion encompasses every last one
On this planet or wherever consciousness plays
Throughout space-time and being, will we have done well?
Within every infinity chaos must dwell.
So, it does well behoove us to measure our days
As if all of creation had never begun.

Gratitude Is Not Attitude

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s an intricate fabric of which I’m a thread.
There is always a place where I’m part of the fold.
Neither feelings of loneliness nor perceived guilt
Can convene to antagonize what has been built
Over eons. My true heart cannot be controlled
By illusions of misfortune that lie ahead.

As life happens around me, the thing I see most
Is how much is involved in the moment at hand.
Every bite that I take… many did make it so
Through the chain of production, as most people know.
What goes into each moment, then, is rather grand.
I can take time to be and be fully engrossed.

Gratitude is not attitude. It’s a wellspring
That flows freely from feelings of utter content.
To call such thing an attitude doesn’t say much.
It implies I’m aggressively cold to the touch.
Gratitude is a break from my will to resent.
It’s a pleasure to be a part of everything.