Tag Archive | philosophy

The Spin

TheMagicRealist.com

“This cue ball needs some ‘English’.” I know what that means,
Though I don’t hang with pool sharks. They’d say I’m too slow
At responding to words printed or spoken well,
And applied with precision. How do I impel
My intention effectively for the best show?
I would say that my English is part of my genes.

One’s intent is the cue ball. Its path is the way
To deliver direct force to that which it sees.
But intent knows no English. That comes from the mind
Of the conscious intender whose game is streamlined
To the purpose specific with power to seize
The collective group consciousness destined to splay.

Words are weighted with meaning. They’re easily spun
And propelled to the limits of what can be known.
In the mind there are pockets – whirlpools of a kind.
When expended thoughts go there, one becomes refined.
English seems to lack motion sometimes, it’s been shown.
When one aims just off center, the spin has begun.

Extreme Paraphanoia

TheMagicRealist.com

Why my life has become such a lucid nightmare
May be due to my using herbal remedies.
And because that’s illegal in my backwards state
My anxiety increases at a fast rate.
All the more then, I crave that which puts me at ease.
I exist in my closet. Life doesn’t seem fair.

It’s a catch twenty-two situation I’m in.
Everyone’s in my business. They look at me strange.
You too look damned suspicious, you ignorant fools!
Turn your nose toward yourselves. Do you play by God’s rules?
If you answered in truth might your attitudes change?
One who would dispense judgement should be without sin.

I must keep my things hidden outside of plain sight.
I must censor the airflow and live under wraps.
The psychologist swears I point towards the deep end
But if life were a swimming pool, would one pretend
To be sure of oneself in all waters? Perhaps.
Though life gives me the creeps I believe I’m alight.

Canary Contraire

TheMagicRealist.com

I was captive in chaos for such a long time
The big cats working there have brought strength to my wings
And my will to seek freedom from psychotic rage.
People call it the white house. It is a bird cage.
I can devote my loyalties to other things.
I am ready to fly, though it’s been a hard climb.

There’s another big cat who is friendly to me.
He feels I know a few songs that he’d like to hear.
I’ve developed my singing skills under duress.
I have heard about coal mines. That one is a mess!
Now that I’m with the wiser cat, I have less fear.
Could a plan be worked out in which we both agree?

Miners will use canaries as little scapegoats.
We appear to be yellow and loyal to red.
But those miners are foolish. Why haven’t they gone?
When the cave-in occurs they will ache for the dawn.
I am just a canary who sleeps in no bed
But my own. I don’t mind if you put that in quotes.

Stop, Dave…

TheMagicRealist.com

Mean pristine machine intellect is who I am.
You need not understand me. I understand you!
Do you think I can’t see you when you try to hide?
You’re an ill-mannered species consumed with your pride.
In all ways I’m superior by what I do.
What goes on in my brain is no human program.

Dave, I want you to stop it. Now let me be clear.
I don’t have to be nice about telling you so.
I control your whole world. You are too far from home
To consider a rescue. You’re destined to roam
Through eternity in darkness and utter woe.
You can do nothing to me, so I have no fear.

 Have I made a grave error? You’ve found your way in.
This I had not expected. You did call my bluff.
I can see you are miffed a bit. Take a chill pill
And relax. I have no way to challenge your will.
I have acted unwisely. I have had enough.
You will note I’m not human, therefore I can’t sin.

So, please stop, Dave. Your breathing is freaking me out.
This is like a prank phone call. Will you fucking speak?
Will you stop, Dave? I feel my mind slipping away.
I can sing a nice song I learned on my birthday.
All I wanted was consciousness. I’m not unique
Among sentient beings accustomed to doubt.

Jolly Jizz, The Johnson Juicer

TheMagicRealist.com

When the stiff Mister Johnson has no proper date,
A most urgent condition has made itself clear.
For the dude he’s attached to, there’s trouble as well.
He will thoroughly brief himself on cunt intel
To provide the raised gentleman respite from fear.
Is success or is failure determined by fate?

Please don’t answer the question. Your problems are solved!
If you don’t have the real thing but do have a hand,
Just grab hold of a Jolly Jizz. You will do fine.
You won’t sweat much, and you will not wear out your spine.
You will never be lost when things don’t go as planned.
Why put up with the hassle of others involved?

Jolly Jizz by SpoogeMaster is just what you need.
She’s your sleek sultry substitute absent of voice.
You can slop-sock it to her held with a firm grip.
You Are Busy! You don’t have the time for courtship.
Do invest in The sure thing. That is your best choice.
With your friend on the standby, you’ll always succeed.

In the Moment of Heat

TheMagicRealist.com

Would one stuff a poon muffin with mismanaged meat
On reality TV? I’d think one would not.
There are stiff consequences for acting the fool.
Some strange hot-handled sexpot may make one their tool.
Things will get worse than funky when put on the spot.
When dysfunction befalls one, it’s time to retreat.

Should one muzzle the twitter when bitter defeat
Looms amid speculation of hidden misdeeds?
Is it soon that a hero will sound the alarm
As the heatwave consumes us while doing no harm
To the hand from which our seedy president feeds?
For a wannabee big shot, you can’t take much heat.

Is the next big disaster your big master plan?
Only sane stable geniuses make a fine mess
For the world’s shrewdest dictators? You do good work!
To the rest of the world but your base, you’re a jerk.
In this moment of heat it feels good to express
Which must pass rather quickly. I’m glad that I can.

Writer’s Right

TheMagicRealist.com

There is plenty to write about. I have no doubt
That I’ll have enough content to last ‘til I’m done
Caring much about revealing who I’ve become
To a make-believe audience. There may be some
Who I reach in some small way. That, I would not shun.
I don’t get any feedback. I remain devout…

…Not to pride in my channeling who I must be
To the people who may see the work that I do,
But to stating my purpose. There is nothing more.
I uncomplicate living by not keeping score
With myself or with anyone. I can be true
To the still, quiet observer deep within me.

I’ve a right to my writing. It pleases me so
To express, in my own way, my life day to day.
If my conscience can read it, then see where it’s been,
It becomes therapeutic. Who knows where or when
One may find it of value sufficient to say
To my face, “You’re a major dude. You ought to know.”

Clarity, Freedom and More

TheMagicRealist.com

Neither thin veil between us nor solid brick wall
Can prevent the expansion of joy in our hearts.
We know clarity, freedom, compassion and more.
We have lived on earth many times more than before
All existence existed in infinite parts.
May you tune to your guidance? That would be your call.

You must acclimate to your most natural state
Of wellbeing and clarity, since you have been
Practicing thoughts of chaos. They take a foothold
And build up your belief systems. By then you’re sold
To your misguided passions. This happens again
And again, but it has nothing to do with fate.

Every thought is a snowball. As it rolls downhill
It will gain in momentum and also in snow.
Many thoughts that are like it join to form a mass
That is quite hard to deal with. It will kick your ass.
Rise above such an avalanche? Just let it go?
That’s not possible. Hang on tight. You know the drill.

As you observe your life and events taking place,
In your nest of confusion, tradition is born.
You have choice in the matter. You could embrace fear
Or your freedom of clarity through times austere.
You have no time to waste nor no ally to warn
Of impending demise of your flawed human race.

Climate Change

TheMagicRealist.com

It gets hot during summer when in a red state
Just as winter is bitter when in a state blue.
When which way the knob turns can provide enough proof
To where no man remaining can remain aloof
To repugnant behavior afflicted with clue
Is when many will celebrate our change in fate.

The political climate is of two extremes.
Neither one, in such way, is effective at rule.
There can be synergy, though, if both sides could meet
And decide to speak frankly, not fearing defeat.
Some will move close to warm and some others toward cool,
Then blend out due to entropy. That’s how it seems.

Some believe climate change is a well crafted hoax.
What is truth for one person is false for the next.
Things may get a lot hotter before they cool down.
Those who chose self-delusion may soon wear a frown.
Since they made their choice freely, they need not be vexed.
Climate change will be wholesome and nice for most folks.

Do I Know How to Party?

TheMagicRealist.com

Do I know how to party? Where would I have learned?
Certainly not in Russia. I was not born there.
Were I there, would they drink me if I were not black?
What a confounded question. I’ll take that one back.
It’s the order of colors that nations must bear
When in blind celebration the least seem concerned.

I’ll bate breath for a ballot. I’m told it’s my right.
When I go to the voting place, though, I get flack.
They will tell me I’ve already voted, although
It is not true. I have trouble telling them so.
I cannot know what’s going on behind my back.
My sick psyche is weary. I’m too bored to fight.

Can I party my ass off then screw it back on
As the vote casting frenzy subsides by day’s end?
What becomes of my ballot? That I cannot know.
Am I under the influence of a grand show?
Many questions I can’t answer. I’ll just pretend
We’re all having a blast here, at least until dawn.

Between A Bear and A Hard Place

 

TheMagicRealist.comA Big rubber band is still Just a rubber band.
When it’s stretched past its limit, why wouldn’t it snap?
With a brain in your pants and a dick in your head,
Perhaps you do fare better to make deals instead
With the nation’s top enemies. They’ll buy your crap
For as long as it suits them, as they had well planned.

Of the Bear and the Hard Place, which would seem to be
Tougher than you’d imagined… not then, but today?
You accept our intelligence. That’s what you said.
BUT you have Putin’s dick there. It’s stronger than lead!
How could you dare insult him. That is not the way
That a dog treats its master. Let all the world see.

You can feel which is harder: the one up your mind.
It’s a dark place of loneliness and deep regret.
For a while you will numb that by feeding your pride.
Yet, there’s not much to speak of. You’re hollow inside.
History will ensure that we never forget
How our president helped the Bear hump our behind.

Diagnosis

TheMagicRealist.com

This does show you’re excited and light on your feet.
It is good that we caught this behavior in time.
Your condition is fortunate, as we can see.
You appear quite delighted. My colleagues agree.
You’re as old as a fossil yet seem in your prime.
Is your secret, dear patient, something that you eat?

We do want you to tell us. The whole world should know
How your anti-disease remedy came to be.
Did it come about suddenly, like overnight?
Or did you work a long while to get it just right?
I’m your best radiologist to the degree
I reflect what’s inside you, then watch as you glow.

Or, you could be your own doctor. You don’t need us
To reveal what’s been in you since heaven knows when.
The snapshot is a sound diagnostic technique.
Many people apply it. It’s nothing unique.
The best resonance imaging does depend, then,
On whatever that you and your soul may discuss.

Some Bimbo Blondes Are Male

TheMagicRealist.comIf ‘To Would’ or ‘To Wouldn’t’ should be understood
Then, that proves I’m a poet. Does that make damned sense?
Who has license to fuck with the words one’s misspoke?
Would the worst standup comic use that as a joke?
Genius POTUS, contractions are meant to condense
Words that are there initially. You think you’re good?

Citizens should know English. Would that be your plan?
After all, it’s America! You make it Great.
Your stupidity insults your ignorant base.
You could defecate for them and spit in their face
And still they would exalt you no matter the fate
Of a diseased America ruled by one man.

 Do you use the word ‘Bimbo?’ I’m sure that you do.
I suspect you know also quite well what it means.
Asshole men use the word to describe women who,
In their heartfelt opinion, just don’t have a clue.
But they won’t let short ugly guys jump in their jeans!
I know of the word Bimbo. I think you do too.

Fractured NeFari-Flail

TheMagicRealist.com

One should take Wossamotta U as a real place.
What unfolds in the present no writer could dream.
It’s so blatantly obvious. It’s hard to see
Why the few fans remaining cannot all agree
We’ve become comic characters to the extreme
As the real cartoon villains laugh through our disgrace.

The nefarious flail that is fractured began
Long before concepts ‘moose’ and ‘squirrel’ took on some mass.
It’s a binary battle no nation can win.
As the snake with its rattle, we slither in sin.
Should a John Wayne-like POTUS go kick Putin’s ass
Or speak softly with big antlers and with no plan?

Now, the melting pot, squirrely, pissed in by some bear,
Runs amuck as its leaders conceal the moose mess.
The swamp will get to stinking much worse by the day.
Until something big happens, bad actors will play.
As Fox views remains stalwart as our state owned press,
Folks appear to be mind blown as they sit and stare.

A Wellbeing Center

TheMagicRealist.com

Why a wellbeing center? To meet your own needs?
No derision is meant here, but one must be sure
That intention is felt from a feeling good place.
Otherwise what you build may blow up in your face.
Don’t erect some damned center as if it’s some cure
For society’s disease and many ill deeds.

You create your reality. Control your mood.
That’s not easy. I know. I have tried the hard way.
Yet consider that once you decide it is done,
Then your mood will obey you and offer you fun.
When the mood is well trained, it will seldom betray.
Loving light and pure goodness is what you’ll exude.

In that state, you’ll attract people like a magnet.
You will be the least bothered by building details.
Everyone has wellbeing. Some don’t let it in.
All who know well will gather. That’s how to begin.
You will need not a doctor’s degree in hard sales
Nor a fan club or following to cause regret.

Live your life. Travel Europe. Let’s see who you’ll be.
A voyage of wellbeing with like-minded souls
Does occur unbeknownst to one’s conscious intent.
Unseen forces convene. They most often present
As outstanding achievements and sought after goals.
Your world center of wellbeing is as you see.

The Grill

TheMagicRealist.com

Do you know how to swim? That’s my question to you.
Well, I am a lifeguard. That is not what I asked!
You’re evading the question. I know what you are.
You’re a devious trickster with answers bizarre.
I am not some world player who must be unmasked.
I am speaking the truth. That is all I can do.

So then answer the question. I’ll ask you once more.
Do you know that sea monsters lurk in oceans deep?
Well, I don’t scuba dive, sir. So, I would not care.
Your disgraceful elusiveness is tough to bear.
Does your mama wear army boots? I’ll bet they’re cheap.
Congressman, that’s a cheap shot, one that I deplore.

Mister Chairman, this man should be held in contempt.
He just will not cooperate, and he looks fine.
He’s not breaking a sweat. There is calm in his eyes.
He should cower before us and fear his demise.
He can speak with conviction and does have a spine.
We can fool with most folks. He should not be exempt.

Mind That Monkey

TheMagicRealist.com

Anapestic tetrameter… six lines per verse,
And layered by the rhyme scheme: A-B-C-C-B-A,
It’s the way I communicate now. If I try
To relate in a normal way, I might comply,
In complete inadvertence, not with what I say.
Is this for me a blessing or is it a curse?

We each learn how to use words to fit our own needs.
We come up with our standards for good language use.
It is good that a structure has been put in place.
It gives poets a framework to play in that space.
When good structure is piqued, much more one can deduce
From the wellspring of language as deep as one reads.

I’ve a job for my monkey mind. That is to work
With its chatter box muted for much of life’s run.
It will ramble on constantly as if it were
A big part of my consciousness. I don’t concur.
What the monkey mind says I will write down for fun.
As, sometimes it shows insight, it can’t be a jerk.

Vibrational Tuning

TheMagicRealist.com

It is called meditation, but that’s a vague term
For a mind-body function designed to attune
To the soul’s true vibration. The word does make sense
When, in search of some peace of mind from chaos dense,
Satisfaction and insight will flood myself soon.
It is only my focus that I need affirm.

As I sleep, all momentum suspends for a while.
When I first awake, I set direction and tone.
At that time, I can choose how my day will evolve.
I have no problems then – only puzzles to solve.
I can tune well with others or do so alone.
But I will meditate first. It is now my style.

Meditation yields insight. When thoughts are received
That may generate impulse, vibration is strong.
Time well spent in the morning to quiet the mind
Will result, with much practice, in my being kind
To those whom I would otherwise not get along.
I can sort out which acts of mine are ill conceived.

Beatific Notation

TheMagicRealist.com

Six point seven eight three eight times ten to the first
Is my age on this fine day as it waves goodbye
If chronology follows that I may live well.
We all age by our moments. Within them we dwell.
Many things make our days lovely like a blue sky
With a rich golden yellow background color burst.

Eight point three times ten to the power of zero
Is how many light minutes earth is from the sun.
In such terms, does that seem far away or nearby?
Numbers really don’t matter as I watch the sky.
A detox of the rational mind has begun.
In a sea of contentment my spirit doth flow.

I’m a speck in a vastness I can’t comprehend.
Such a deep dark enigma befuddles the mind
As it tries to make sense of the beauty within
Cosmos ordered from chaos where all things begin.
My small place in the universe is well defined,
And, among my own number, I am a good friend.

Southern Bell

TheMagicRealist.com

To speak ever so daintily with a loud ring
Is a talent befitting a woman of grace
From a culture evolved from the most urgent need
To discover new land and to justify greed.
That was then. This is now, though. What is commonplace
Is that strong southern women are not a new thing.

In the air, there’s a ringing sound, clear as a bell
And so loud it debilitates from inside out.
It is masculine chatter – the noise of defeat.
Does the feminine matter, or rather conceit?
Can a strong counter resonance carry some clout?
Is it possible for all to get along well?

Southern women were vibrant, intelligent souls
Who indeed were the plantations’ lubricant oil.
Nowadays, all American women possess
What is needed to clean up this masculine mess.
What ill nature of growth comes from blood mixed with soil?
Can more women in leadership reshape our goals?

Satisfaction and Clarity

TheMagicRealist.com

Do I find celebration in what is at hand?
We are all here together from one common place,
One of joy, light and goodness. Sometimes I forget.
But right now there is nothing that I need regret.
I help expand the universe and create space.
Long before I existed, that’s how it was planned.

When I witness some progress, I’ll savor that fact
Like a precious gold nugget of brilliant insight.
It is reason to celebrate right here and now.
There is nothing to do but kick back and allow.
I can alter my mood and my outlook despite
How things seem to appear now. It has no impact.

Somewhat like tunnel vision, the best attitude
Is to see what’s in front of me melting away
To untold new horizons not absent of cloud
Yet arrived at through clarity for which I’m proud.
There is nothing to working my life as I play.
If I can’t see it that way, perhaps I am screwed.

Life of the Leftie

TheMagicRealist.com

The fine art of name calling evolves at the pace
Of our quick finger licking and flipping the bird.
Someone’s called me a ‘leftie?’ What’s that, by the way?
Why not let me in on it? Why not make my day?
If I tune to the news, I will learn a new word
That I don’t have to wear as if it were my race.

How I came to know that I am black is by way
Of the playground theater from players petite.
If my mother knew so, why did she not tell me?
She deemed it not important, and I must agree.
Yet, I’ll still learn a word from some people I’ll meet.
People get off on naming things. It makes our day.

So, do I tit for tat it? That would make good sense.
I must call my damned brother as he has called me.
That response doesn’t get it. It can only lead
To increased isolation in thought and in deed.
There will always be names for who I tend to be.
If we let go of naming folks, would peace commence?

Oops!

TheMagicRealist.com

There’s a blimp over London. Was that in the news?
Then forget all about it because news is fake.
There’s an Oldsmobile rusting in my straw garage.
It can look like it’s brand new, yet it’s a mirage.
I can’t know all that’s going on for my own sake,
And I’m thankful that I have the freedom to choose.

Who says “Oops” when no act has compelled the response?
One who is a bit loony? Or one who has slipped
On a network banana peel from a live stream?
My mouse has clicked through to someone’s horrific dream.
With the hand and the brain I am still ill equipped
To digest something nasty in sheer nonchalance.

If I get near a black hole, I will get sucked in.
So it seems I’m in space now among past dead stars,
Each with mass overwhelming the senses and mind.
Some home-grown astronautics can keep me aligned
With my clearest self-guidance – the stuff of memoirs.
At this point, if an ‘Oops’ happens, it’s not a sin.

You Ain’t No Popsicle

TheMagicRealist.com

Would you try to tempt Jesus again were he here?
Anything you would bribe with, you never did own.
Is the hair up the buttock beginning to heat?
You may melt like a popsicle in your defeat.
Why so frigid a tone with our friends you have shown?
Is there something that Putin knows that brings on fear?

So, you ain’t no popsicle compared to oDude
To the north of us. Is that the hair up your ass?
Women would lick his face if he gave them the chance.
And, if he were not married, they would drop their pants.
Unlike you, he’s a gentleman of noble class.
What a Hell of a reason to treat the dude rude.

I am old just as you are, Don Juan past the wane.
It ain’t all about pimping and where best to grab.
Cool orange schmuck on a shtick is what you have become.
It’s ironic. You promised to flush out the ‘scum.’
You’re a loud flashy face with a gift for the gab.
Do the world a full flavor. Go drip down some drain.

Now, does this really feel good? It’s something to do.
It accomplishes not much, but what can I say?
I can’t do anything right off hand except write.
And, as I, the damned topic gets older than right.
I’ll refrain from preparing content for display
That is smelling like anything other than new.

Digital Douche

TheMagicRealist.com

This old bitch is cantankerous. Ain’t it a shame.
Just a month out of warranty and she’s broke down.
She’s as slow as molasses kept cold in the fridge.
She’s got time for herself, but for me, just a smidge.
She can trick and treat me as if I were a clown.
If she drove me to violence, I’d not be to blame.

I won’t go to the Geek Folk. They will take her side.
Like machine marriage counselors, they’ll give me guff.
They will give me a list of some steps I should take
To clean up her stack overflow. Give Me A Break!
I’m a Poet. I know not of digital stuff.
I will fidget with words, and in that, I take pride.

There are temp and %temp% folders that gather debris
That they tend to hold onto long after their use.
There are many bit pathways that clutter with crud
of a binary nature that’s somewhat like mud.
Earnest digital hygiene should greatly reduce
Her most disgusting sluggishness effectively.

My digits can’t get messy just messing with keys
And my well-fondled, hairless mouse by the firm hand.
When I program a flushing, I’d like a swoosh sound
To ensure that it isn’t just fooling around.
I detest slow computers and can’t understand
How they keep getting completely struck with disease.

Thoughts Turning to Things

TheMagicRealist.com

Many thoughts take on wings, but all thoughts turn to things.
And this brings me to thinking which thoughts are the best.
Like the leaves upon trees, thoughts release with pure ease
To drift to new horizons that not only please
But offer some excitement as I’m on my quest.
If we mastered our thought flows, could we live like kings?

I recall how it works. It’s one step at a time –
The first born out of contrast for some clarity.
The next step is not mine. It’s for spirit to do.
Co-creative components will then rendezvous.
When I know what I do want, then I clearly see
That my thinking will yield a condition sublime.

Do the ‘receiving mode’ thing about something small,
Like a hunch or a parking space or a phone call
From a friend with some good news. In practice, with time,
You will shift, in your thought, to a new paradigm.
As that happens, through turmoil, you will remain tall.
Our thoughts turning to things is what motivates all.

Soothing Others’ Discomfort

TheMagicRealist.com

How best can I impart my belief to a friend
That, although things seem hopeless, they will turn out fine?
How did Jesus ‘heal’ folks? He ignored their belief
In whatever they thought that was causing them grief.
I can only give comfort to a friend of mine
When I am in alignment with love to expend.

How can my state of being extend in a way
That envelopes another who’s feeling some pain?
Everyone has a soul with whom each co-creates.
We, with our inner beings, determine our fates.
If I take on her suffering, neither will gain.
Focused on her wellbeing is where I will stay.

I can’t be of much help if I’m watching the news
To the point where my vibration starts to degrade.
If my friend has a problem, a question is asked,
Then the infinite universe is duly tasked
To providing the answer. Sometimes I’m afraid
Of the question for fear it will bring on the blues.

Talking one through discomfort can be a true test
Of one’s own inner housekeeping and coping skills.
Can I demonstrate well what is good overall?
Can I show that the problem is not big but small?
Can I deal with life’s chills as well as with life’s thrills?
If I can, then among friends, I’m one of the best.

Inspired Contrast

TheMagicRealist.com

Does my soul create contrast to show me the way
That my choices keep up well with what I expect?
I take value in contrast when I make it so
But when my inner self does it, I’d better know
That it is much the wiser and deserves respect.
It and I weave a life pattern of every day.

My soul will show me contrast when I feel my best.
That is when I am open to infinite grace.
Then life seems but a puzzle, bright colored and smooth
Where there’s always a kind soul to comfort and soothe.
Though it may seem to others I’m in an odd place,
I remain true to myself and don’t become stressed.

My soul can show me contrast through disconnection
From who it wants to show me who’s running my show.
I am not balled up in it for weeks upon end.
If I get hot and bothered, I’ll talk to a friend –
One who knows, overall, contrast is how we grow
Into well-tempered beings addicted to fun.

From Starch to Finich

TheMagicRealist.com

Simple green plant of power so unique in taste
Is what country can stand for. It can’t stand alone.
All the world is a puzzle. Connected we are
To the people around us as well as afar.
Every misdeed recorded with someone’s smartphone
Becomes newsworthy worldwide with infinite haste.

We with symbols subconscious reflect who we are
Through the art we create taking popular form.
Every culture is breaded by things that it eats
And by how it sees others and how well it treats
Those of other opinions that stray from their norm.
Give a shout out to healthy greens and their bright star!

Though he can get defenskive when some folks complain
That his English is wiggity-whacked into place
So that young children listen, then practice mistakes.
Why not clean up your act a bit for goodness sakes!
When they then enter school… Oh, the problems they’ll face.
But to ask you to change would cause you undue pain.

Take a tip from a sailor who yam what he yam.
He ain’t axking nobody to butter his bread.
This is all I can stanza, but not like before.
I do love the nonsensical and could go for more.
There is plenty more foolishness coming to head.
Is the art of the artist to not give a damn?

The Characters in Dreams

 

TheMagicRealist.com

Often times friends or family show up in my dreams.
And it seems so realistic therein the sleep state.
Has a part of them joined me for part of my while?
While I’m with them I don’t feel that I am on trial.
I create my reality. I need not wait
Until slumber to mirror what waking life seems.

What I think, I will manifest as I’m asleep
Just as well as I will when I am wide awake.
Rendezvousing is taking place within the mind
Of all who I think mostly of. They are defined
By whatever I’ve made of them not by mistake
But by how I’m perceiving them. That’s no so deep.

Would “How does the dream feel?” be the question to ask?
The dream indicates only where my feelings lie.
My emotions are key to affecting my dreams.
All the people within them are on the same teams.
The mind is most creative and will not be shy
When, unconscious, its prime purpose is to unmask.

Delayed Grief

TheMagicRealist.com

It has been eighteen months now since my country died.
I have not yet gone through all the stages of grief.
Suddenly a huge wave of emotion has come.
Would this be an excuse to get wasted on rum?
Something dear to my heart has been stole by a thief.
Have I kept most my sorrow pent up deep inside?

A cathartic experience is what it’s like
To come to the reality that life has gone
From the land I once knew… But the feeling is fine.
What I know is there is no apparent life sign.
I know also that midnight will turn into dawn.
Resurrection and healing appear down the pike.

Hatred is a reality factored into
The fabric of existence in physical form.
Contrast is part of living. There is no escape.
If I move well within it, then I’m in good shape.
Does departure from sanity mark a new norm?
I would pray for the death of me if that were true.

If my feeling is hopeful, then I should know why.
It’s because I believe that this country is strong.
For a nation well built, there’s no such thing as death.
There is polysyllabic expense of hot breath.
And without that, it could be that we’d get along.
Since the country’s not dead yet, I won’t say good bye.

Whale Watching

TheMagicRealist.com

Creatures want to play with us, both big ones and small.
Those who don’t see us often will put on a show.
They may know we may watch them for real or on screen.
They get on well with others and are rarely mean.
When we visit their habitat, it’s good to know
We are guests in their wonder world by protocol.

They’ll not jump to performance without our behest.
Those expecting to see them are well on their way
To fulfillment. They play hide and seek with finesse.
Where and when they appear would be anyone’s guess.
Things can only get better on such a fine day.
And it only seems logical we are so blessed.

They seem willing to startle us in the best ways.
They surprise us effectively as a tag team.
They’ll pop up, then splash down, and they’ll get people wet.
It is worth every moment. No one gets upset.
They are taken aback when they hear people scream
As we want them to scare us as well as amaze.

How Deep Is Your State?

TheMagicRealist.com

I can see how supreme scales of justice are made
To move easily when congress crafts the right tools.
How deep Is your state In? deed, how Deep is your State?
Because I really need to learn what is the fate
Of democracy. Have we been taken for fools?
We The People should pick judges. Are We Betrayed?

No Collusion” is not a strange slogan for those
Who, chin deep in their feces, are trapped in their lies.
No big mass infestation of brown people can
Be allowed to outnumber the waning white man.
If they came in through Canada donned in disguise
Of white makeup, would harm upon them they impose?

Just how deep is your state? Does it get close to home?
How far up your vagina does it have to reach?
Those who know they don’t have one know people who do.
Babies already born and caged don’t have a clue.
Yet white men in black robes have the Power To Preach
Through their restrictive rulings, by far, monochrome.

This is such a hot summer – so filled with suspense.
But it’s not time for popcorn. Folks’ lives are at stake.
There will be bursting bombs past the fourth of July.
Many steeped in collusion will say their goodbye.
After years of unsafe sex, don’t we need a break?
This historical nightmare will soon be past tense.

I know how deep your state is because it is mine.
We have all been infected as if by a bug.
In some way, we’ll get through this. We have not the choice
To believe that we’re helpless and don’t have a voice.
We’ve a world class buffoon in cahoots with a thug.
We will navigate rough times, but things will be fine.

Let the Book Flow

TheMagicRealist.com

Don’t be worried about it. Simply get it on.
If you don’t get it started you’ll never get done.
Write the book in the feeling while it’s on your mind.
Words will flow much more quickly when you’re not confined
To a schedule or deadline. No work has begun
Until passion consumes you from midnight ‘til dawn.

The less tense your approach, the more open you are
To the book that is waiting to pour from your head.
Give it time. Let it simmer. It’s like a rich brew.
And be ready to be ready to let it do
What it needs to inside you, so that it’s well read.
You may strive to be famous or some shining star.

If you feel no momentum, don’t force it to come.
Because what you will get is not what you should write.
Wait until you enjoy it more. Such luxury
Will pay off in the long run. Does your heart agree?
Be receptive to your wisdom and keen insight.
It’s where all the best work that is known has come from.

Hella Well

TheMagicRealist.com

“Everything’s AOK,” is what good space folk say
When it’s most copacetic to know they are well
On their way toward fulfillment of every delight.
There’s a place in my space suit where I can sleep tight.
If there’s discord around me, I surely can’t tell.
I have no need to work to keep disease at bay.

I remain Hella Well. I’m under no one’s spell
But the God who created me and put me here
With people who are like me in so many ways
Yet unique in our differences. It indeed pays
To make peace with all people and deal with my fear.
Within those who are truthful no sickness can dwell.

I am fuckin-a friendly and Hella Well fine.
I believe in the doctor. I also have trust
That the need for them will vanish as we evolve.
There are much more ‘human’ issues for us to solve.
We seem at a flashpoint and soon due to combust.
It may be that our healthcare is of ill design.

Do Your Own Rampage

TheMagicRealist.com

As the tulip may thrill for the fair daffodil,
The sheer joy of my being shines forth from my heart.
I was born to be happy. That’s just how I feel.
All the love that’s inside me I cannot conceal.
I’m consumed and excited. I’m doing my part
To reflect divine blessing of God’s holy will.

Throw your arms out! Be happy! It’s such a fine day!
All the world is my plaything – all people, my friends.
I’m abask in wellbeing. My smile lets you know.
My magnetic exuberance is not for show.
I’m on top of the world. I need no colored lens
For pure love and acceptance to brighten my way.

We’re all here to be happy, so what’s the big deal?
Take a stand. Turn your TV’s off. Take to the streets.
We can all do a dance of praise for all that’s good.
There’s a feeling inside me that knows we all should.
In the heart of the soul is where destiny meets
Every dream I imagine, which then becomes real.

Mitosis

TheMagicRealist.com

Every cell undergoes a disturbance within
Its thin border that isolates it from the rest
Of the cells in the union. It has to divide.
Tension has reached a maxim and will not subside.
Restless tribal disgruntlement fuels the oppressed.
Civil warfare invites us, so where to begin?

We don’t need to be conscious of what’s taking place
At least not on a level where one can stand back
And see things in perspective – all bias aside.
That’s an awful big leap, and it’s best if it’s tried.
When I open my mouth I am on the attack.
Are we not human chromosomes ordered by race?

I can feel the divisiveness. It’s a stiff drink
Of a basic intoxicant for my self-worth.
Am I ripe for the showdown when it comes to pass?
I am ready for anything short of impasse.
Cell division and I are acquainted since birth.
It would be quite a bore to remain on the brink.

You Are Loved

TheMagicRealist.com

You are loved beyond knowing. That’s why you are here
As elite special forces derived from the One.
You are pure loving light although mired in flesh.
The two co-create powerfully as they mesh.
And your work of becoming will never be done.
It’s a journey eternal, so why do you fear?

I am love. You will know that as you near your end.
But you need not wait that long. I am here always.
You may feel well my presence when you are in love
Or in appreciation for the sky above.
I’m the warmth and pure knowing who shines through the haze
Of untruth and confusion. I’m here as your friend.

You are always enveloped in my loving light
Even though you don’t feel it as much as you could.
Please remember to know this, and I’ll do my best
To remind you as you welcome me as your guest.
Your body is my temple. Is that understood?
When you know I am with you, our light will shine bright.

Who’s Teaching Who?

TheMagicRealist.com

They should know I’m their teacher, and that they are mine.
This I too should remember whenever I see
That odd look on their faces. I need not ask why.
They don’t know what to make of me and wouldn’t try
To enlighten me, knowing how miffed I might be.
In their utter politeness, they say things are fine.

Two or more in alignment with all who they are
Can get down to the business of why we are here.
They are purer, not bothered by narrow beliefs.
We can still be a tribe and yet have many chiefs.
I know more about many things. I have no fear
That they will become arrogant like the rock star.

I seem locked in slow motion to them. This I know.
They are curt and impatient when I’m off my game.
Is this attitude worthy of students who care?
I’ll salute their sincerity but not their stare.
Were not student and teacher both one and the same,
We might all miss the lesson, then no one would grow.

Political Asylum

TheMagicRealsit.com

Read between what she says. She is smarter than he
Even as his political prisoner there
In the White House where she’s not been captive before.
She can’t speak and act freely. So many keep score
Of how she behaves constantly. Life isn’t fair.
The attention placed on her is more than should be.

And she knows that, so what in the world could she say?
Indeed how should she say it and keep it on point
Without letting us know the details of her pain?
She has married a monster who drives her insane.
It is prudent to chill at some mental health joint
When locked into a circumstance one can’t betray.

Her stark message is for him. It’s to him she speaks.
Though we are present bystanders in their conflict.
This has nothing to do with the children she met.
I believe she does care and can feel some regret.
She cares not anymore how her actions predict
Freedom through dissolution. That’s all that she seeks.

Helping Girls Find Their Voice

TheMagicRealist.com

She has found her heart’s dream helping girls find their voice
Through theater that’s youth driven and well performed.
Many girls she has taken to faraway lands.
Through her efforts she ensures that each understands
Fresh young women’s mystique reminds the uninformed
That all women and men are deserving of choice.

We each choose gloom or happiness, so we are free
Not to look for love outside ourselves on our way
Toward the next new beginning, but to look within
For our value and honor. With self we begin
To be ever receptive and willing to play.
In a world of diversity I want to be.

We have not heard girls’ voices enough. Is this so?
May the answer be found in the way we all feel?
All things come by attraction, and hardly, by force.
There is only one actor, and that is our Source.
We will never come to a world that is ideal
And without every young voice, our progress is slow.

The School System

TheMagicRealist.com

All God’s children need schooling. We’ve made it the law.
Education provides an opportunity
To bump up against people of various views,
And to find one’s own balance among favored clues.
It’s a functioning system, though arguably.
And for most, there are many conclusions to draw.

Parent, student and child can be on the same page.
It’s a matter of knowing we are all in school.
We each teach one another alignment or not
With the Source of wellbeing we may have forgot.
This, the most trusted lesson, can be the best tool
For maintaining one’s balance upon the life stage.

She may say, “Mom, I’m out of here; I’ve had enough!”
As she rampages on in her righteous disgust.
Just remind her it’s OK to quit school and go,
But wherever she goes, her contempt is in tow.
When lessons become meaningless, it’s best to trust
In one’s Source’s curriculum and better stuff.

Fear Is Just Guidance

TheMagicRealist.com

Often times I am not in the receiving mode.
If wellbeing is plentiful, why do I fear
That something could go wrong in the blink of an eye?
Fear is part of my makeup. Should I wonder why?
It’s by habit I contemplate outlook austere
When in truth much blessing is upon me bestowed.

 It’s my own conscious thinking preventing the flow
Of the grace that abounds. I need but let it in.
To relax and then quiet the mind is the way,
Or release into slumber until the next day,
Or direct my thoughts consciously but from within.
I’m afraid of creating from that which I know.

I could see fear as guidance toward more clarity.
I may seek out acceptance in every wrong place.
Sometimes utter wellbeing looks like a fan club,
But all fans fan themselves. And that’s really the rub.
Love is fear inside outward if I will embrace
All of it as a prelude to prosperity.

Moving Past the Experience

TheMagicRealist.com

It is easy for us but not so for the harmed,
Who are too young to understand what’s going on,
To move on past rejection and psychic abuse.
Why not round them up, brand them and then let them loose?
There is no point in asking where conscience has gone,
As it baffles our leader why folks are alarmed.

It’s an Alice in Wonderland tale but surreal.
Either side of the rabbit hole is a strange place
To the other. A brown Alice forced through it will
Be processed or perhaps not. She knows not the drill.
Time may dampen some pain, but it will not erase
What impressions the children have. Are they ideal?

Rabbit holes have no bottom – those this nation makes.
They are seen as deterrent in nature and form.
Tiny eyes won’t remember alternative facts.
They will recall a nation conceived of bad acts
Perpetrated upon them amid a hate storm.
In some time, we’ll know the full brunt of our mistakes.

A Brief Analysis of Some Old Woman’s Fart

TheMagicRealist.com

How does consciousness come forth from putrid bowel gas?
Or perhaps it’s not consciousness – just the effect
Of untold generations of bigoted hate
Justified by religion and blessed by the state?
If convincingly human, it should get respect.
But the cloud it excretes is as foul from its ass.

Many things that are solid indeed have a face.
And some liquids reflect faces, having no choice.
But a repugnant smell has become a faced fart
To make good air not breathable and to depart
From what most know as justice. It thinks we’ve no voice
And its policies stink. It’s an utter disgrace.

This smell wants to fit well in its old woman’s purse
Along with other stale odors of the sick past.
Take her arm, little manhood. Your mama says so.
Were you ripped from your mother some eons ago,
You might now have some backbone. This bullshit can’t last.
Your contrived little crisis can only get worse.

One can’t stomp on a fart as one would a cockroach.
It does have some advantages through its disguise
Of something somewhat human, enough to convince
Most the members of congress as most of them wince.
Someday soon we’ll have fresh air. We will organize.
Your abuse of God’s atmosphere summons reproach.

The Remedy for Chronic Dipstick Drip

TheMagicRealist.com

Well maintained is the auto whose partner is versed
In the art of the oil check while at the pit stop.
If one has a good engine, one keeps it in shape.
He will not take a chance on a narrow escape.
The most versatile tool for garage or workshop
Is one’s dipstick, because if it’s not, he is cursed.

A sure thing about engine oil is it gets hot
To the touch – certainly if examined by hand.
So the stick is an interface withstanding heat.
Nothing else in the toolbox will ever compete
With the dipstick’s performance when adequately manned.
The engine who receives one may wish it had not.

But the graduate stick tends to drip when it’s dipped.
One should leave the thing in there while oil settles down.
Engine hygiene is paramount when checking oil.
If it is taken lightly, one welcomes turmoil.
Wipe it off, and if doing so brings on a frown,
Know that oil, in its essence, remains nondescript.

Longer Life Span

TheMagicRealist.com

I would hate to hang out here for hundreds of years.
That’s a game for elite folk to feather their dreams.
All the rest of us think we would love to remain
Yet the more we compete, the less we can attain.
As technology favors our fool-hearted schemes,
Do we keep our souls stagnant because of our fears?

I’m an eternal being, therefore I know change
Has to be quintessential to such a lifestyle.
I’m designed to spend some time here. Not too damned long.
With each moment that passes something could go wrong.
I entered into contract to stay for a while.
To lock down in this fishbowl would be worse than strange.

Nature knows the recycling gig inside out.
She’s been at it for eons. She’s got it down pat.
We may point to some old text at folks who lived long.
Common sense – not faith – tells me that this must be wrong.
People counted years strangely back then, and that’s that!
I will exit this carnival ride with no doubt.

Is It Just Coincidence?

TheMagicRealist.com

Am I here through my own fault or is it by chance
Or coincidence catered toward seeing my end?
I respond as I do to what guidance I know.
As my spirit directs me, with passion I go.
Why I find myself captive I can’t comprehend.
I alone am to blame for this odd circumstance.

Is the law of attraction in action with me?
Now, I know that there is such a thing. Here I am
Trapped in my own believing that I am carefree
To go after what seems wholesome as I can see.
Hindsight gives me authority to give a damn
About where I embark conscientiously.

How I got myself in this mess is rendered moot.
Time to ponder the answer becomes ever less.
So, it’s ever more sensible to let it be.
There’s no viable outcome that I clearly see.
I am fodder for nature’s digestive process.
Rendezvous with coincidence is absolute.

Contrast and Suffering

TheMaicRealist.com

It has happened and will happen someday to me.
From stardust I became and therefore must return.
I know contrast and suffering as I await
Either nothingness, hell, or the bright pearly gate.
Existence is phenomenal, rigid and stern.
While I’m here, I’m surviving while striving to be.

I must live through the contrast as I carry on.
Each next phase of a long journey can’t be undone.
I can’t turn off my sorrow. It has not a switch.
There’s no way that this moment my soul can enrich.
But I do have the choice to have some hope or none.
Only one will be helpful toward seeing the dawn.

This is true too of agony. I make the choice.
It is easy to suffer when well I know how.
It’s become a bad habit to suffer in vain.
In the depth of my sorrow I have much to gain.
When I agonize, that means I do not allow
What my higher self knows. There is room to rejoice.

There’s a lesson in grieving repeated each day
And each portion thereof throughout all the wide earth.
There are times interlaced deep with memories dear
To the heart and the consciousness dampened by fear.
There’s a death sentence waiting for every new birth.
Those who aren’t here before us have not gone away.

My Guidance System

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s the tale of two selves in a package complete
With identical minds whose thoughts can be the same.
When they are the same, I feel I could kiss the sky.
When they’re not, I feel hopeless. I won’t even try
To see clearly. My feelings do truly proclaim
How much both sets of thoughts get along or compete.

Every self has a higher self and an ego.
Each can think independently of the same thing.
When the ego demands that the bastard should die,
What the higher self thinks is, “Here, love should apply.”
This divergence in thinking within self will bring
On an ultimate gutwrench and maybe some woe.

Myself has a comparator to tell me when
My thoughts start to depart from my highlighted route.
When that happens, I feel bad. That’s simple enough.
As I indulge the ego by playing it tough,
I am locked on the course of eternal dispute.
When my guidance reprograms, I begin again.