Tag Archive | philosophical

Crow Whisperer Training

TheMagicRealist.com

Listen Up, human rookies! This isn’t boot camp,
Nor is it rocket science. I’m nothing like that.
This is all about noticing what all birds do –
Not just good looking black ones among but a few.
We deliver insight at the drop of a hat.
We can offer a clue when your spirit is damp.

I may look straight up sober and matter of fact.
That is just a façade to get closer to you…
Not too close, though, that you might suspect something’s up.
We know something of fear because of the sick pup.
We are here to remind you of what you once knew.
In your knowing, then, all the best you will attract.

Learn a bit from the wise ones, but much more from we
Who, in touch with the spirit realm, deliver to
Those receptive enough, messages from the dead,
So that you may not look at death with so much dread.
Whether you can receive us is all up to you.
Live your lives well and prosper, but mostly be free.

Quiet the Mind and Receive

TheMagicRealist.com

Words evolve into traffic, then don’t convey much.
They are not the best teachers because of their traps.
They routinely ensnare us and leave us confused,
Yet, without our content, we feel further abused.
A brief timeout will reset my tuner, perhaps.
Words can mimic advice, but they’re often a crutch.

When I offer vibration, I get something back.
What that is depends wholly on what I put out.
If I quiet the mind before starting my day,
Then my words do have meaning – to me, anyway.
So that I may receive well, I’m better, no doubt,
To unplug from all that I would call soul attack.

When I silence the chatter, I better receive.
To get in the receptive mode, all that I do
Is to fixate on some gentle noise in the room.
If my focus should falter, I simply resume
Until I feel detachment, and blissfulness too.
Then the more I receive, I can surely believe.

The Most Important Question to Ask

TheMagicRealist.com

Life is jam-packed with questions – both big ones and small,
From the stuff between atoms to deep outer space.
We are curious creatures – some more and some less.
Certainly I have questions, and I must confess
I would not see the answers in front of my face,
Yet there’s one simple question that stands rather tall.

“Is this universe friendly?” If I think it’s not,
Then a life marked by defense and putting up walls,
And fixations on weaponry would be my style.
If I think it is friendly, I greet with a smile.
Life becomes, then, fulfilling and truly enthralls.
I could mitigate hatred and give love a shot.

Many simply profound questions Einstein did ask.
This one is most important. In it we decide
If we’re feeding our fears of the unknown with doubt,
Or if we choose to learn what this life is about.
How I answer this question is my only guide.
Then my own friendliness can be kept well on task.

An Evolution of Perspective

TheMagicRealist.com

I can see much more clearly when I’m flying high,
Looking down at where here and now happens to be.
I can wave at ourselves from the wide-open sky.
From my alter perspective, no troubles have I.
A new world of adventure is given to me.
With my wings of alignment, I need no ally.

Here and now is a nice view when wings are at rest.
Down here can be obstructive of a better view.
Structures that we call obstacles get in our way.
If we can’t see around them they screw up our day.
My intent upon flying is past overdue.
And it’s bright up here. My Goodness! Who would have guessed?

I just want to be happy. We all want the same.
Any life situation is one point in time.
From that point I can zoom out as far as I need
To see where in the big picture I may succeed.
I need not even find some tall mountain to climb.
From the broader perspective life seems rather tame.

Remote Access

TheMagicRealist.com

Don’t make fun of my accent. I’ve practiced it well.
Either that or my English still gives me away.
Anyway, I will help you. Your system is screwed.
I’ll access your computer and then I’ll get rude.
I’ll have problems to show you and too much to say
While concealing the fact that this is a hard sell.

 This is like the old shell game with quick sleight of hand,
Only I open windows and spread them around
While explaining how sick your machine has become
In this short while I’m with you, you simpleton bum.
I will find every bad thing there is to be found
Then create a few more. This is what I had planned.

Just sit back and relax while I fill up your screen
With my scribbles and doodles and fancy artwork.
You won’t owe me a fortune. Just half one will do
To restore your computer to something like new.
What I tell you is true. I’m a desperate jerk.
If I knew any better, I’d surely come clean.

Stop Noticing The Absence

TheMagicRealist.com

I establish my lists and may check them with dread.
Rarely I feel like Santa as always I should.
How unbalanced my balance sheet is reflects how
Misaligned with my purpose I seem to be now.
How I find myself lacking is not understood.
I would rather look elsewhere than torture my head.

I must know there is absence. This makes common sense.
It would be very foolish to ignore the facts.
Thankfully, I don’t linger there for very long.
I’ll head toward the solution by way of a song.
When presented with absence, the wise one reacts
In ways most beneficial for mending that fence.

Right now is but a snapshot arrested in time.
It does not have an impact on moments to come
Unless I keep now active and feed it my gloom.
When receptive to insight there’s plenty of room
In the now for my outlook to beat like a drum.
From absence to abundance is not a steep climb.

It Gets Busy On Tuesdays

TheMagicRealist.com

It does get rather busy most Tuesdays for me.
I catch up on relaxing while doing my best
At observing my habitat most of the day.
Yet on Tuesdays I’m busy with still much to say.
I will say it but at my own spirit’s behest.
There’s no need for alarm. There is no urgency.

I’ll spend time with my fellows. I’ll eat a good meal.
Then kick back into slow mode. That much will suffice.
Ecstasy is my basking. I long not to be
Someone else’s fulfillment… eventually.
I’m laid back and I’m mellow, therefore I am nice.
What takes place in my jungle is not a big deal.

I did quite well today. Did I get a lot done
With today’s interactions? I feel satisfied
Even though there’s a deadline some would call midnight.
I need not create frantically. That’s just not right.
This is easy by now. Time has taken my side.
What has worked for the many does work for the one.

Words Don’t Matter Much

TheMagicRealist.com

Many words are not needed to labor my point
When the point is to unleash the artist in me.
Words do have some meaning… too much, as it seems,
And sometimes they mislead. They’ll engender extremes
Of misinterpretation inadvertently.
Yet, at times, they’re a blessing with which to anoint.

Verboseness speaks of labor when untethered to
The intent that derives it, no matter how much
Meaning is well packed into it. How can I tell
If my aerosol speaking can cast a nice spell?
That is simple! My speech must be fun to the touch.
If I spoke plain and simple, would that do for you?

On the walls of our journeys, we tag with our hearts
The intenseness of color held tight in our souls.
With some pressure released, with expression of thought,
We may sigh in accomplishment and want for naught.
Many words, some do use, to accomplish their goals,
But the meaning behind them is where it all starts.

The Value Of Contrast

TheMagicRealist.com

Monochrome is the cosmos of darkness and light
Wherein we find discernment in what we perceive.
If it were not for contrast, then it would be hard
To make out what to work with and what to discard.
We take stock in perceptions. That’s how we believe
And make judgements about what is wrong and what’s right.

We appreciate color where it may be found
In abundance or scarceness concealed in the seam
Of the over stretched canvass. There color hides well
When there’s no need to see it nor anyone tell.
Life plays out in the mind, though, in vibrant extreme.
We delight in creative expression unbound.

Contrast does lead through chaos, but to clarity.
So it matters profoundly. It leads me to more
Of what life has to offer. I need only see
That my challenges are of much value to me.
There’s no problem that I should not love and adore.
Each, if wise, is a service – one offered for free.

Dataface

TheMagicRealist.com

There may be a resemblance, but only in jest.
We should not take to joking, yet that’s what we do
With sung heroes of wealth among young and alive
Who appear in good health and have prolific drive.
But this man is NOT ‘Data,’ the character who,
As an officer, turns out to be of the best.

I believe he is human and brilliant of mind,
With a knack for precision and logical view
Of what people hold precious. Could something be flawed?
Has our Data been beamed to some dark force abroad?
What should be know by all is known but by a few.
The ‘real’ Data knows Duty and is truth aligned.

“Senator, I will have my team get back to you.”
Well, that sounds good in theory, born of the abstract.

Put your ‘team’ on the floor if they have answers, please.
Your dorm room is now worldwide. A future that sees
You as more like our Data, is one based in fact.
You could show some emotion, as most androids do.

Wanting Something Badly

TheMagicRealist.com

If I want something badly – too badly to know
That the ‘badly’ will dominate over the want,
I may get what I want but with badly involved,
Or receive not a thing, then no thing is resolved.
In the spirit of joy I am willing to taunt
The prefect of good fortune and master of flow.

If I wish upon good stars or bad stars, who knows
How the cosmos is biased? Is that in my chart
Of the sky at the time I was born? How could I
Overcome what is destined? Should I even try?
Every good thought unravels the will of my heart.
I receive of the universe what it bestows.

So, to want something goodly would be quite the way
To at least be receptive to what I have drawn
From the bountiful infinite. I can do that
By not being so needy. The proper format
For a life of fortune is to rely upon
One’s own wealth of alignment beginning each day.

I Came As A Creator

TheMagicRealist.com

I am one with the canvas and paint that I use,
As with palette and brush, and my own unique style.
I intended to be here to do what I do.
I believe that the universe helps me with who
I’m creating. That’s Me! And I’m here for a while.
Since I am a creator, I’ve nothing to lose.

The whole world is vibrational? That’s hard to sense
On the onset. Things seem to be solid and ‘real.’
It is fact: What is unseen becomes what is seen.
This is true, most of all, with the cosmic machine.
I can know what is real by the way that I feel
All ethereal things and all things that are dense.

I am born of vibration. My senses detect
Things like texture and color. I sometimes pretend
That what cannot be seen surely cannot exist.
Though I harbor scant truth there, the bulk is dismissed.
I am here to create what is real, and I spend
Most my moments creating – much out of respect.

No Assertion, Just Attraction

TheMagicRealist.com

There’s a spell in the air. Surely I put it there.
It’s my life force exuding throughout the cosmos,
Calling all things to me, be it bird or it bee.
I’ve no need for assertion, as all can agree.
I attract what I need. In no way is it gross.
I’m the kind face of nature, most gentle and fair.

I don’t need to keep busy. I delegate all
To those forces whose business it is to take care
Of the details regarding what I need right now.
I remain still and blossom the way I know how.
With my point of attraction, I’m fully aware
Of all drama around me, though fragile and small.

I am in the receptive mode most of the time.
When I’m not, I’m the giver to that which knows me.
Is there much on my mind? There is not such a thing
As the heel that may crush me before I can sing.
Had I eyes that knew color, how proud they would be.
Through the law of attraction, my life is sublime.

Kool-Aid Charade

TheMagicRealist.com

As the head of the elephant, stuffed on the wall
In the house of it’s owner, the bear in the ice,
Must be well taxidermized to make it look real,
Is it rough to the touch? That should be a big deal.
One who drinks the red Kool-Aid does so at a price.
It will take down the heavyweights and make them small.

It is drunk behind closed doors. Consumption is kept
Well concealed and performed as a drama most grand.
Almost all the king’s horses have elephants’ heads
And a loud trumpet’s bellowing that the heart dreads.
What could be so perverse that we can’t understand?
Can we follow a leader whose heart’s never wept?

There are some dead men walking… and talking these days,
Where throughout the vast jungle, the things that take place
That may cause severe damage to my way of life
May drop free of the spectrum of doom and world strife.
Those who have drunk the Kool-Aid are doomed to embrace
Consequences severe for their treasonous ways.

From the Desk of D. Dudley Dickinworth

TheMagicRealist.com, The Magic Realist, Magic Realism

Sir, we give you the dickens! This time it’s for sure.
Why have not you responded? Where’s your sense of greed?
We have offered you millions. Don’t say you don’t care.
You won’t find a more urgent email anywhere.
You must answer me ASAP so we can proceed
To maintain cockamamie discourse. You Are Poor!

From our records of outstanding contractors due
A large payment, we find that your name does appear.
We now need your full address and bank info too.
We will need up front payment to cover a few
Incidental expenses, like campaigns of fear.
Make that check out to me. I will take care of you.

I don’t want to get nasty, but, damn it to hell,
You have not yet replied to me! Don’t be a fool.
Don’t you know how to act with a dick in your face?
You must give it attention. I know there’s some place
In your heart for some jackass who thinks he is cool.
Once I have your phone number, I’ll call you as well.

Better To Give Than Receive?

TheMagicRealist.com

Many fowl do their giving while gathered in flight
When they find one deserving of what they possess.
We could learn from the birds and cast fate to the breeze.
The mind makes a fine camera as long as it sees
Something other than chaos and emergent mess.
So, whatever life gives me, I must know it’s right.

I create what befalls me before it takes place.
Through the lens of the mind’s eye, I craft what I get.
If I got up this morning with crap on my mind,
Then neglected to flush it, that wouldn’t be kind
To my outlook. My day would be filled with regret.
I can’t reach good conclusions when stuck in that space.

“It is better to give than receive,” people say.
That depends on one’s outlook. Again, that’s the key
To receiving abundance in whichever form
We attract it. To live life apart from the norm
Is to be truly mindful, most diligently.
I have freedom to give what I don’t want away.

A Wonky Relationship

TheMagicRealist.com

Things appeal to the wonk (who is happy to plonk
Down his sanity for a mate as strange as he)
That have not much bizarreness when pictured alone.
When they’re seen as a pair, though, their union is shown
To be as odd an odyssey, if such could be.
Can it be held together, or will someone conk?

Every plate has a wobble. Each soul has a plate.
It may be full or empty. Some skill it will take
To ensure that momentum is constant and swift.
When all balance quite well, what a wonderful gift!
We may choose co-creation along with heartbreak,
Yet, to do so without self is such a blind date.

If I find satisfaction within my own skin
And not bother my partner with all that I lack,
Perhaps I’ll come to know the odd one within me.
Once that we are acquainted, my true self will be
My own best source of guidance who will have my back.
Anyone who is strange enough could be my twin.

Too Alone Prone Persona

TheMagicRealist.com

When alone in a shoebox and weathered by time
And neglect of the home life within the dark soul,
No one comes by to visit. What life could be there
But one filled with delusion and utter despair
For not having attained some significant goal?
At the moment of birth one seems way past one’s prime.

Maybe better with family, a dog and some beer,
There is guidance available to one who seeks
Strong alignment with some cause related to blood.
I salute the self-righteous supremacist flood
Of the fictional family with tongues in their cheeks
That will tell this sick nation that it’s time to cheer.

To propone the persona of flesh on a throne
Does extract from the owner some measure of heart,
And from those of the kingdom, much trust and respect.
There is no sense of honor that I need detect
In the souls of the leaders I choose. A new start
Is something I can’t handle. That’s why I’m alone.

Esoterisphere

TheMagicRealist.com

Would I fear esoteric things were I not cast
In the mist of the mystical and made of flesh?
Chances are, there would still be some doubt in my soul
About dealing with fear and then reaching my goal.
By my simply engaging life, I do enmesh
Myself deeply. I’m part of the universe vast.

To conceive the unknowable and make it known
Is the quest of those qualified. It’s good to know
That all have the authority to understand
What is put here before us and seems like it’s planned.
It can be complicated, decidedly so.
Yet it can’t be all that. Could it be overblown?

Some see spheres as concentric, like thin onion layers.
Others couldn’t care less because life is just fine.
Those who see things as simple, content in their bliss,
Glean the best out of good times and then reminisce
On how well the unknowable knew the divine
Through supreme evolution, and all without prayers.

To Transcend The ‘Unfriend’

TheMagicRealist.com

To transcend the ‘Unfriend,’ I would most recommend
Referendum regarding the chronic disease
Of indifference to what’s in front of one’s eyes
Unless it has a touchscreen. I don’t criticize.
I’m reminded that when I’m too willing to please,
Some may find me a displeasing fool in the end.

Face to face we are fickle with flamboyant fluff
That we flitter like glitter. We seem made that way.
Now, we’ve replaced our faces with iFucking tHings.
What an overpriced plaything that sings when it rings!
Please forgive me, I digress, but hear what I say.
How much more disrespectful are we with this stuff?

Every ‘friend’ has a face. Every face has a soul
And a heart that can feel and therefore can be hurt.
Was the purpose of Facebook that we all join hands?
Perhaps so at the start, but now, it’s about fans.
On the playground, some seem to treat others like dirt.
Would you ‘unfriend’ your mama? That would be quite droll.

There Is No Exclusion

TheMagicRealist.com

If I say I don’t want something, that is the same
As declaring I do want it. There’s no escape
But to turn my attention from what I detest.
My advice to myself would be give it a rest.
When I heed my direction, I’m free to reshape
My condition from turmoil to one that is tame.

There’s a Unary Infinite Input OR chip
At the base of all consciousness. How I attract
What is wanted or not wanted are quite the same.
My strong focus on either will bias the game
Toward the outcome that matches the way that I act.
It makes sense to be mindful of which thoughts I grip.

That there is no exclusion is good for us all.
Such a law gives us logic to live out our lives.
We attract what we think about much of the time.
I could craft much displeasure with thought pantomime.
It’s the thought that’s most constant that surely survives.
Anything that I dislike can be rendered small.

Knee Jerk Reaction

TheMagicRealist.com

Tally Ho! I’m the knee jerk. Although a day late,
I know you will forgive me because I’m a fool.
I react all the time – not just one day a year.
Everyday I make merry to mitigate fear.
I can be quite spontaneous but never cruel.
I believe foolishness is the cure for most hate.

If you think this is silly, you’re right, I must say.
I put much time and effort into what I do.
Does it make people chuckle? That, I’ll never know.
There’s no choice but to tread on and go with the flow.
If my ass ran away from me, I’d have no clue,
Because it dons no butt bell to give it away.

All I need is a good knee to utilize me.
Every knee jerk depends on a knee to perform.
I can spring into action, but never will sap
The insanity dormant beneath the knee cap.
It’s a pleasure to tap a good jolt to the norm
From the heart of the knee jerk who’s daft as can be.

To Forget Being Gotten

TheMagicRealist.com

If I need to be understood so I feel good,
Up the creek of the fecal and minus the oars
Would be I with my sorrow and deep seated fear
That I’m too odd a creature and don’t belong here.
When I don’t believe I’m the one who life ignores,
I am scaling the brick, and not knocking on wood.

Are my words so elusive that they don’t make sense
To the asshole majority? That’s fine with me.
They’re the same words that everyone uses. I just
Rearrange them in ways that are meaningful. Trust
That I came here, as all do, to live and to be
Plentiful in creating in full present tense.

I can’t get a damned thing that most rappers exude.
Most of it is a voyage, for me, to nowhere.
So, I don’t listen to them. That’s not ‘tit for tat.’
I’m an alien being, and no diplomat.
Should the gallery peanuts sound off, I don’t care.
One whose heart glows with passion cannot be subdued.

Gravitate Toward Feeling Good

TheMagicRealist.com

There are things that attract one’s most critical mass
As the earth does with all things more heavy than air.
Of those things, there are many that can be much fun.
When engaged in, the business of life is begun.
To descend adrift freely and without a care
Is the kind of adventure no brave one would pass.

What can go wrong is not on the mind of the one
Most distracted by passion in each moment new.
There is gravity in what sometimes I attract.
It may pull me towards that which I don’t want contact,
At least, not as momentously as I accrue
Enough doubt to consume me and leave me undone.

I’m not ready to take to the air just right now.
I must visit the cockpit to see who is there.
I’ll make sure there is someone who’s flying the plane.
If I don’t find a pilot there, what would I gain?
I would land the plane safely, then perhaps declare
That I feel good already. I worthy, somehow.

Getting Around Hindering Beliefs

TheMagicRealist.com

My beliefs are like boulders, yet some can dissolve
To embrace the swift current that carries me through
Life’s adventure as I paddle to get around
Other big rocks that won’t move because they are bound
By the mass that I give to them. I bang into
Such beliefs made of hard matter I can’t resolve.

A belief is a thought I continue to think.
I don’t think a thing of it as it gathers moss.
Every thought grows in power the more it is thought.
This is how I create belief and how it’s wrought.
My most nurtured beliefs come not by the coin’s toss,
Nor by scant inattention through will out of sync.

I accept that foundations are part of life’s stream,
And that momentum varies much, most of the time.
I can best get around them or face them head on
Through the spirit inside whom I rely upon.
I can’t slow this stream down, as my will is not prime.
My beliefs are my guidance, sometimes, it may seem.

All Of Space Is NOT Space

TheMagicRealist.com

Wrap one’s mind around nothingness? That’s such a breeze,
As there is no such thing. Nothingness can’t exist.
There is space between particles, planets and walls.
All that space is a part of what science now calls
Something so complicated that questions persist.
There is nothing to nothingness that the eye sees.

Place a standard sized beach ball alone in the sand.
That’s the hydrogen nucleus in a nut shell.
It’s electron is hundreds of meters away,
And the size of a walnut, it’s worthwhile to say.
What exists in between the two has much to tell
Of the nature of nothingness if by demand.

Nothingness is without us, within us and more.
What’s perceived are but focal points translated so.
If we call space dark matter or dark energy,
Then it seems a good place holder ‘til we can see
Deeper down through the rabbit hole to what’s below.
Seems there’s plenty of nothingness we can’t ignore.

Homophonic Heteronymity

TheMagicRealist.com, The Magic Realist, Magic Realism

I had fear of the homophone right from the start.
Had I heard a thing of it, that would have been nice.
I was taught, as a child, of the word ‘homonym.’
Now, no one’s ever heard of it. Have I gone dim?
Could it be that my memory is imprecise?
Which came first with my schooling? The horse or the cart?

It seems Google remembers. This gives me some peace.
I would beg post-teen teachers to keep their acts straight.
That is, if I had nothing much better to do
Than pick nits with society and what is new.
As I keep to my own little world, I feel great.
I’ll admit to some old ways that I could release.

One may hire O’Glyphic or Heterophone
For the ones spoken most to and who listen well.
There may be some who heteroglyph their way home.
Homophonic profanity festers like foam.
When they’re making up new words, would someone please tell
The old retroverse wordsmith adrift on his own?

Bizarre Pharma Dharma

TheMagicRealist.com

A life filled with bright color begins with child’s play.
That which makes the heart happy is sweet to the taste.
If the medicine tastes good, then I can believe
It will do what it’s made to do. Do I achieve
Any measure of some relief? Or, do I waste
Much of my motion hoping that meds are the way?

I need something for gut clog – a lethal depth charge
That will blast the pipes thorough of resident waste.
The condition is common, the symptoms as well.
They’re enough to debilitate and make life hell.
Yet, despite indications that aren’t to my taste
I seek help from beyond self… from ‘oneness’ at large.

All the fine meds available are much the same,
As they boast full relief from what ails me the most.
But the symptoms they claim that will then go away
Are the same as the side effects, to my dismay.
Should I therefore proclaim that my innards are toast?
That would be utter nonsense, and worse, a damned shame.

Often Easier to Be Sad

TheMagicRealist.com

My old lady done left me and took both the cats…
And the keys to the pick-up she don’t even drive.
Maybe she hates my singin’ and playin’ guitar.
She ain’t said nothin’ of it, at least, not so far.
But she took off, and I don’t know how to survive.
I’m one sick sack of suds among soul democrats.

What’s got into my baby I just cannot say.
I’ve got lots of good TV and Coors Light on tap.
My abode is a breadbox on big cinderblocks.
I make porridge lukewarm for my fair goldilocks.
Maybe she would have stayed if I’d learned to sing rap.
Lord, wherever she’s gone to, I hope she won’t stay.

Like my dreams about coal mines, I’m left in her dust.
So, I could do the bar thing, but that gets old fast.
A big family reunion will do well for now.
If I don’t find a girl then, I’ve lost it somehow.
With a dickhead in office, my sorrows can’t last.
Though he ain’t keepin’ promises, in him I trust.

A Vulgar Display Of Power

TheMagicRealist.com

Were your straps to be loosened by your holy base
In the midst of determining how you’ve done wrong,
Would the nation survive you? Or would we be cast
In demonic delusion designed to outlast
Your incumbent possession? You won’t be here long.
You will give up this nation and leave in disgrace.

So, you took a man’s pension? That’s such a cheap trick.
…And especially so, as it’s done in a way
That insures heartfelt insult to show the whole world
When you deal with the demon whose wrath is unfurled,
You will end up in Hades without much to say.
I would pass on possession. I’d rather be sick.

…Such a vulgar display of your power I see.
Does that mean you’re a waste even as Satan’s tool?
There are straps that will bind you. They won’t go away.
You’re a pomp prince of darkness who’s not here to stay.
Every nation of honor sees you as a fool.
We’re in need of The Exorcist most urgently.

Transliterative Transliterature

TheMagicRealist.com

I’m not sure how the war started and couldn’t care,
Except strong indignation erupts in the soul
Of humanity, once again – this time through he
Who dishonors maliciously most frequently.
To divide through blunt brute force it seems is your goal.
Why make war with your soldiers? You’re Daft, I Declare!

‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,’ is still sound advice
I received from an old salt when I served my time.
It applies not to forces of service alone.
Within all things of life this is easily shown.
The commander in chief is intent to begrime
Every sane institution with torment and vice.

Check your skivvies, ‘commander,’ you’re in for defeat.
Karmic militant forces momentous and strong
Will engulf and consume you in treasonous shame.
You will be the apprentice whose lost his own game.
May you lose where you don’t have the right to belong.
You are trash in a silk suit consumed by conceit.

How Much Am I Allowing?

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How much am I allowing? Or do dare I ask
Of a spigot controllable by me alone?
Does the knob need a turning to left or to right?
Then, how many degrees? What if it is too tight?
What flows into the bucket is more than what’s shown
To the eyes made of matter, the natural mask.

The life force that sustains me is fluid, at base.
It expands or contracts to get in everywhere
Any force wants to take it, assuming the shape
Of that which may contain it, not wanting escape
On its own, whether conscious and fully aware
Or intangible, totally, thus without grace.

Life is given to me. I shall give in return.
I contain what flows through me for use while I’m here.
The world may dip within it. In fact, be my guest.
Easily, what is fluid, someone can digest.
What I do for a living, now, can’t cause me fear.
I survive quite amazingly without concern.

The Shift

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When The Shift, as it happens, is one of the heart,
There can be none of greater importance to me.
It’s a move toward abundance from living in lack
And a shift from the worldly, that I may get back
To the way of the spirit. I most want to be
Part of all that I come from with much to impart.

It’s the upshift from lower to higher mindset
That I may become used to as I am prepared
To await the incumbent awakening of
A new consciousness worldwide conceived of pure love.
That beats scanning the news for stuff to make me scared.
Have the gears of smooth transmission shifted quite yet?

There’s a shift in the moment. Each one is a change
From one view to the next. Each one offers a choice
That I make in the moment for darkness or light.
No one needs special knowledge to know what is right.
As the world’s masses gather and speak with one voice,
The big Shift becomes viable and nothing strange.

The Barrier Transparent

TheMagicRealist.com

Once I walked into glass… ‘couldn’t tell it was there.
And I felt like an asshole. Folks laughed themselves sick.
As for me… I was dazed, and I didn’t care much.
I have near perfect vision, yet I need a crutch.
Perhaps clicking like bats do would be fantastic.
Not a thing I could see through would become a snare.

Often glass is a ceiling. Sometimes it’s so high
That it cannot be seen by the one who grows tall.
If one ascends too quickly, before very long,
He may strike what is unseen and feel he’s done wrong.
In that way, such a ceiling can be a brick wall.
What is hopeful is that one can still see the sky.

Some things should be transparent, and some things should not,
Is, I guess, what I’m saying, not knowing from where
I find such things to write about, and that’s OK,
Just as long as I let spirit echo my way.
Surely flying through glass cannot cause me despair
As I keep myself focused with all that I’ve got.

Begin When It’s Easier

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I will start when it’s easier to comprehend
All the chaos outside me – inside me as well.
There’s so much I could focus on. Some of it’s good.
Yet it’s hard to find, and hard to be understood.
I perceive much that is me. Within that I dwell.
I could push stuff aside, but that seems not the trend.

They behave much like pinballs, the eyes as they bounce
From one source to the other for dopamine hit.
Have I seen what I wanted? Have things become clear?
They just get more confusing and laden with fear.
I’m addicted to garbage, sometimes I’ll admit.
Toxic content delirium I can denounce.

Is this nation in disarray? It looks that way.
So, that means I’m in error. No mess I need clean
But the one in the mind that I made on my own.
I can start seeing better with crap left alone.
There’s a saner world out there that is clearly seen
By the one in alignment and not led astray.

The Question Is NOT the Answer

TheMagicRealist.com

Don’t keep asking the question. The answer can’t come
In the midst of my asking, then asking some more.
As like poles of the magnet will surely repel
Strongly each other’s presence, this doesn’t bode well
For attracting the answer that I’m looking for.
This is counter-intuitive, but not to some.

When I ask, it is given, the moment I ask.
The kind cosmos receives it, then takes it to heart.
It is much like a heart. It’s a pumping device.
And whatever I ask for, it doesn’t think twice
In providing the answer. The cosmos is smart.
As much as I allow, it performs any task.

Is it wise to consider the magnetic mode,
Where receiving and giving are opposite ends
Of this segment of being? I have little doubt.
I must feel for life’s answer in stillness devout.
Is the answer forthcoming? Well, that all depends
On my mode of receiving all that is bestowed.

Talking Oneself Off the Ledge

TheMagicRealist.com

I am told life is precious, including my own,
By behavioral science and men of the cloth,
But not by those who would leave me out on the ledge.
It is up to me only. To thy own self pledge
To remember the big picture – not the thin swath.
Any vision from that space is fear overgrown.

 I may long for the tunnel, then pure loving light
That I don’t seem to find here in this blurry realm.
What I see down below me I don’t want to face.
Down there needs not another. It would be disgrace
To give up such a fine face to life overwhelm.
What if I suffered greatly? That would kind of bite.

That is hardly the point, though. There are many ways
One may take matters drastically into one’s hands.
There are things about living that I may despise,
And my focus on those things would be my demise
Had I not a defense for life’s unmet demands.
There’s no hope in the pavement. There’s no need to gaze.

A Room With Some Padding

TheMagicRealist.com

…Just a room with some padding. I don’t need a view.
I don’t want to see what it’s like on the outside.
What is out there is nowhere. I’m no one to it.
People treat one another the way they see fit.
Am I mad if I seem to be full of self-pride?
If you say so, there’s nothing much else I can do.

I can get used to white, though it does hurt my eyes.
Can you keep the lights dim enough so I can’t see
That I’m banging my head on whatever I find?
Were I made to see brightness, I might well go blind.
There is no mind more lost than the one that can be
Locked away due to mere obsolescence endwise.

I believe I’m a poet, still. Don’t say I’m not.
I embrace my delusion. Belief is steadfast.
Some who craft only bullshit get on fairly well.
To pretend to not understand me is pure hell.
If I don’t think about it much, I will have passed
Through a dark, psychic fugue, but with torment forgot.

Perceptual Pineality

TheMagicRealist.com

I perceive the pineal the same as most do.
Some don’t know a thing of it, nor care that it’s there
At the center of consciousness, deep in the brain.
Those who think they aren’t psychic are foolish to feign
Disability, knowing we can be aware
Of that which is perceivable through subtle view.

 That our eyes are a threesome most people have heard.
There are two for the physical, and one evolved
To conceive the unknowable, when one learns how
To relax into mindfulness and to allow
Pure reception. My issues with life are resolved
As my vision is sharpened and spirit is stirred.

Some may feel it’s a spare eye. To others, it’s prime.
It depends on which world we most operate in.
Both the spiritual world and the denseness of earth
Are domains coexistent – each one giving birth
To the other. The veil grows increasingly thin.
We commute to and from pretty much all the time.

Passive Retentive Anal Aggressive

TheMagicRealist.com

I am not anal, doctor. I wipe only once.
And that one time is surely enough, I would say,
Because I do things thoroughly, taking my time
To make sure all is tidy and absent of grime.
I would say I’m fastidious. That sounds OK.
When you say that I’m anal, I feel like a dunce.

Often passive retentive, I keep to my own
Little world of becoming. I seek no advice
To propel me through some worldly crisis, you see.
I just come to you because that way I can be
Most flamboyant with my deepest secrets. It’s nice
To soul dump on some stranger who is judgement prone.

So, what else can you tell me, aggressive assed one?
I am ready to hear all that you have to say.
I know Freud was a coke head and mental blacksmith.
Let us cut to the chase and get rugged forthwith.
Playing with this absurdity brightens my day.
When I’m bored with my dull life, I see you for fun.

The Hell Out Of Dodge

TheMagicRealist.com

Let us talk about Dodge again. It’s a nice place.
Though I haven’t quite been there, nearby is OK.
Though I think of disaster when this town is named,
It has no more than elsewhere. So why is it famed
As some hell to depart from and get far away?
I do wonder if people there live in disgrace.

‘Get the Hell out of Dodge!’ It’s expressive, in ways,
Of the chaos that comes with the limits of speech.
We can color the notions of panic and fear
With illogical thoughtforms that aren’t very clear.
We adopt our weird sayings, though often we reach
Some acute understanding amid verbal haze.

Dodge is fine, I would hope, and its residents too.
They would have to have long gotten over this joke.
When one needs to get out of someplace really fast,
No particular city should ever be cast
In a cloak of obscurity. We owe these folk
Some relief from our warped ways. It’s long overdue.

On The Zest Of Zippid E. DooDaah

TheMagicRealist.com

I’ve made up with the DooDaahs in whole or in part.
What the bird thinks he’s saying is through the artist
Who created him as his own alter ego.
Through the lines of the character, we come to know
Deep within the rose velvet, there is a tight fist
That is poised to punch poignant those of a meek heart.

Does the gentleman bluebird waste much of its time
Hanging out on the shoulders of arrogant fools?
If he does, he’s a DooDaah. That matter is fact.
Then to call the bird ‘mister’ is not how to act.
That it’s blue matters somewhat, according to rules
Interweaved in the fabric of nature’s high crime.

You are right, Mr. DooDaah. It is a fine day.
We each wax satisfactual to our own tune.
I don’t whistle my doodaahs out loud out of fear
That some actual DooDaah would hand me a spear.
Then I’d raise it and yell something strange to the moon.
When it comes to the DooDaahs, I am not their prey.

White Rabbit

TheMagicRealist.com

We have all lost our minds. That much I can recall.
But not much beyond that, I am happy to say.
I’ve a timepiece that not only tells me the time.
It will tell me I’m much too late to make that climb
Down the me-hole, where all things behave quite my way.
Would I get there in time if I entered freefall?

How did I lose my memory? And is it right
That we carry on smartly assuming our roles
In this card kingdom, not knowing from whence we came?
Would it be such a riddle were all cast the same?
Does the Master Card Dealer reshuffle our souls
And then redistribute them, perhaps, out of spite?

I am not the white rabbit – at least, not today.
I have regained some memory, not knowing how.
We have come here to act like we’re cards in a deck.
We, most often, are each other’s pains in the neck.
And, poor Alice is grown. She’s in therapy now.
It’s a curious card came that we’ve come to play.

Snarklingate

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I am not quite a hermit cat. I need no shell
But the air that surrounds me in sparkling sunlight.
If I blink my eyes thrice, I know they are still there.
And my little ones love me, as for them I care.
It is nice basking freely. My future is bright.
I have taken this bird’s nest. Within it I dwell.

Did they leave rather peacefully – those that were here?
Or did they see us coming and fly fast away?
Heaven knows. My concern is with moving about
In a world where I freely determine my clout.
If they’d stayed, I’d have eaten them. That’s just the way
I behave with my feathered friends. I am sincere.

For now, I am content. I do purr with the best
From a humble twig dwelling that’s fit for a king.
If I tweeted or meowed, they would both sound the same.
Whether singing or winging, all life is a game.
I do either or both as I do my own thing.
I have not much regard for the feathered oppressed.

What Am I Receiving?

TheMagicRealist.com

In the swamp of reception, there’s much to perceive.
Any mouth with the means may make much of the air.
We each have every right to speak what’s of the heart,
In the mind… and to whomever one needs impart
One’s own point of view. Is it wise to be aware
Of what I am receiving while set to believe?

What remains quite amazing is that we each see
A reality unique unto what is known.
If I say it’s a swamp, one may swear it’s a lake.
To erupt in disorder would be my mistake.
We force feed our realities until full grown.
Then, too often, we feel that the world should agree.

Any swamp can get murky, and it can come clean,
And be lit by the brightness of full clarity.
What I listen to regularly has effect
On myself and the outcome. I’m free to select
Any cry from the swamp that speaks something to me.
I receive, most apparently, what is unseen.

Stop Keeping Score

TheMagicRealist.com

I know well that this life is an intricate game,
And I make it that way, just as everyone does…
That is, those who have been here for quite a long time
That the game mystifies them. Then winning is prime.
But, it’s not about score keeping. It never was.
We  can take away sports props and still play the same.

Mine may measure quite smaller than yours does right now.
Yet, I needn’t catch up with you. That makes no sense.
My own path through the deep woods may not be as yours,
And that’s surely a blessing. The forest ensures
That all paths lead to one place, and that’s not a fence.
I care less about winning than I can allow.

This life game is well played if I stop keeping score,
As if making comparisons brightens the soul
Of the better one. That’s not the point of this game.
It has something to do with all being the same
In our will of expression. It may be my goal
Just to bask in my playing while asking for more.

Performance Anxiety

TheMagicRealist.com

I enjoy performing. I’m anxious at times,
Thought I don’t really need to be, and I’m not proud.
My anxiety sets in along with self-doubt.
I don’t care if you boo me or don’t check me out.
I’m sure someone who’s out there will find me endowed.
It’s for that one who I strut. My happy heart chimes.

When I see what excites me, my heart does a dance.
It expands to full color for all eyes to see.
Do you find me exciting? You may or may not.
I will find the right one who will think that I’m hot.
And if not, I’ll continue most confidently.
The best part of my living life is the romance.

Not all like my performance. They have every right
To delight in the things chosen with a pure heart.
I delight in performing. I think we all do.
Every scene I appear in is stunningly new.
If I thought much about it, that wouldn’t be smart.
My own world is my stage, and the sun, my spotlight.

Bless Every Damned Thing!

TheMagicRealist.com

What the hell can I do but bless every damned thing?
I can’t beat the sick bastards. They’re nowhere in reach.
If I hold a stiff grudge against that which I hate,
My heart welcomes disease, and then death is my fate.
All the hate that’s around me is ready to teach
Me that what I give focus to, this life will bring.

All the crap that is wrong with this life I must leave
At the doorstep of doom where it rightly belongs.
Every sap sucking asshole who’s dead or alive
Gives me reason to know if I chose to deprive
Myself of true alignment that rights many wrongs
Of my world, I’d be less in a space to achieve.

Bless the whole screwed up world. It must matter to me
That I keep myself happy instead of damned right.
Every crotchety bitch and demented old man
Surely got that way thinking that they were less than,
So that now they are ready to take full delight
In expressing disgruntlement most artfully.

I Need You Right Now

TheMagicRealist.com

I am needing you now, friend. I’ve no time to waste
Standing here watching you grow. It’s been a few days.
Do you not know your purpose? Well, I do know mine.
I must have supper ready so my guests can dine.
Will you speed up your growth rate? I’m sure you have ways
Of placating my arrogance and will misplaced.

If you won’t grow, we’ll eat you, as small as you are.
Is it better to trip than to keep a straight head?
Mine’s screwed on right, but yours seems arrested in place.
I can’t feed my folks folly. It’s you they embrace.
Could I serve them your roots in a light tea instead?
Grow up NOW, errant seedling! Don’t act so bizarre.

It’s a fact that I need you now only because
I give you my attention too much of the time.
Any seed that I plant now will take time to grow.
That all time is eternal is helpful to know.
In the meantime, my patience is rendered sublime.
I can give up my tweaking of natural laws.

Wholly Preserved

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I am wholly preserved in a whole way of life
Based on profit and making goods lesser than good.
My consumption embalms me. What I eat contains
Every toxin conceived that can flow through the veins.
If I could do without food, I certainly would.
It is not good that eating should cause someone strife.

I’m concerned about shelf life as they are shelf death.
When the spirit decides it should leave its abode,
It should do so because it’s the next thing to do –
Not because one has eaten that which is not new.
Seems with all the preservatives, movement is slowed
To a long, labored crawling until the last breath.

How does nature preserve me? Or does it at all?
I could read product labels ‘til blue in the face.
I could seek diet gurus and shell out much cash
To detox my sick plumbing with colonic splash.
But the body’s own knowledge I should well embrace.
What I give it for nourishment is my own call.