Tag Archive | poetry

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.

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.

A Fresh Coat of Nice

TheMagicRealist.com

Would a Fresh Coat of Nice cover well what’s gone wrong?
Or can such a condition be simply rolled on?
Nice should never be left sealed and on the top shelf
Where no one can achieve it, not even oneself.
There is infinite Nice. It can never be gone.
I may emulate toughness, but it’s a sad song.

Like the soil, somewhat fertile, yet dry to the bone,
Is the surface so thirsty for richness to drink.
Why not lay it on thickly to well saturate
All the areas that have been marred by our hate?
Would I think that our species is missing some link?
Everything is in order. We’re just chaos prone.

Mega gallons of Nice can be sold at no price
As it comes about freely by anyone’s choice.
We apply it in many ways. It matters not
How newness is recovered, and darkness forgot.
When the people pour Nice in one colorful voice,
We may paint ourselves pleasantly toward paradise.

Silent Assed Letters

TheMagicRealist.com

If an actor is silent, why put him on stage?
I have heard of non-speaking parts. That’s not the point.
A good actor can get away with using mime
And may get more across to folks in much less time.
If performers don’t speak, their silence will anoint
The observer’s attention so that he’ll engage.

Let that bring us to letters… the ones that go mute
For a seemingly small set of words that are used.
Silent letters are assy. In fact, they’re a pain,
Though I’ve digested them with the ultra-mundane.
Almost half of the alphabet has been excused
Of a voice in some words. Are they there to be cute?

Well, they aren’t that adorable. Parsley they are
On a plate of potatoes and succulent meat,
Cast aside as the meal is completed, and then,
gathered up with the rubbish to not be again.
All the words that have placeholders playing discrete
Would do quite well without them, and they’d leave no scar.

A Reality Experiment

TheMagicRealist.com

What we can but perceive is a scant few percent
Of the whole of reality, science believes.
So, the ninety some missing, yet meshed with the few,
May suggest we’re important… the universe too.
All the stars that we can see are like scattered leaves
On a vast lawn of darkness seemingly content.

The dark matter, dark energy and other stuff
That the mind cannot fathom yet numbers can prove,
Keep this 3D world going and being so real.
I’m a creature who knows this world because I feel.
When one feels with the mind, one makes energy move.
The Great Whole will deliver ‘til one’s had enough.

This toe dip into consciousness is brought to us
By the ones we can’t see now because we are here
In this space within non-space and time within time.
Was I sent here because I’ve committed some crime?
I came much by my own will to navigate fear.
When I feel satisfaction, I’ve much to discuss.

Everything is of spirit. No substance is real.
All we know is of consciousness and nothing more.
All was thought into being and is kept in place
By the thoughts of the whole of us that we embrace.
This world is an illusion. Do we know what for?
In our spiritual growth, we must learn how to feel.

Schizodemic Panphrenic

TheMagicRealist.com

If a cornflake-shaped elbow scab got up to sing
And you heard it and saw it while others did not,
Would you think you were crazy? Or would you believe
What is real is whatever the self does perceive?
It would trigger a movement bypassing the squat
If that happen to me. I would drop everything!

 In this space, we agree upon things that we know.
We create a strong framework for what we believe.
There’s a fringe always outside the relative norm.
It is not of their nature nor wish to conform.
They may think that the world has a trick up its sleeve.
I would say they’re correct, but I’ve no proof to show.

If this lucid hallucination is for real,
Then there are things that happen that others can’t see.
There are stories spun off from the stories made up,
And as people believe them, they drink from the cup
Of righteous self-deception. I’d hope to be free
To believe as I wish and to feel as I feel.

Tapped Any Ass Lately?

TheMagicRealist.com

David Attenborough sometimes speaks of wild ass
As they cross some huge landmass in mass migration.
All the ass he has tapped are grateful he’s done so.
The man has done some fine work to let us all know
That the tapping of ass is not done just for fun.
It can be educational and done with class.

No good ass is a dumbass, nor is he so smart
That his goodness will save his ass from being caught
Without cover when taking it while lying down.
The best ass is one who knows his way around town.
And the ass who is smartest will not have a thought
Of blind hatred toward women. It’s not in his heart.

As our pieces of ass became pieces of eight
All across the world landscape through eons of time,
Has respect for the feminine taken a dive?
Common sense says without it we will not survive.
I will pray that salvation is not a far climb.
No Old Pig in a silk suit has room to berate.

Annoyed with People

TheMagicRealist.com

What could be raunchier than a rat-licked excuse
Isolated yet taunted by daily routine?
I would rid quid pro quota of note, and I would
Rid the world of its people, that is, if I could.
Sometimes anger is much greater than can be seen,
And most others would see it all as self-abuse.

How do I get myself out of such a hot spot?
I must know how I got here, then see where to go.
This world has much to offer, both wanted and not.
Either fear or desire will reveal what I’ve got
And I do have a choice in the matter, I know.
People aren’t out to get me. There is no big plot.

Everything is a microcosm of the whole,
From the tiniest particle to things immense.
Within each there exists every other, then some,
Along with sharp dichotomy to overcome.
To consult inner guidance does make perfect sense.
I’d much rather be wrong than be without a soul.

What’s Up With ‘Won’t?’

TheMagicRealist.com, The Magic Realist, Magic Realism

There’s a surplus of ‘won’t’ but there is no ‘wo not.’
Why did no one explain this, when I was in school,
That there isn’t a ‘wo,’ really? It’s just a growth
From a disjointed history. Were they not both,
‘Will’ and ‘Not,’ as a pair, solved by judicial rule,
Then perhaps each raw litigant would have no plot.

How does ‘will’ become ‘wo?’ That’s what I’d like to know
Not that it makes a difference. I could get by
Without reaching the bottom of this inquiry.
How the ruling for ‘won’t’ was reached I’d like to see.
Who has judged this contraction the right one, and why?
Did some scene in a courtroom take place long ago?

In Old English, the verb ‘willan’ meant ‘wish’ or ‘will.’
It was ‘will’ in the present and ‘wold’ in the past (?)
Over centuries, too many forms of the two
Were used widely. Versions appeared out of the blue.
Some folks tried the word ‘willn’t.’ That shit didn’t last.
That is why frigging English is such a damned pill.

Getting Past Fear

TheMagicRealist.com

Going through some transitions… Is that not the norm?
I keep changing directions throughout the process.
Contrast gives me some clarity, but I feel lost,
Then I fear I must find myself at any cost.
Can you give me advice so that I feel fear less?
What I need is to unleash the will to transform.

Only knee jerk responses have I had so far
Along each path I’ve taken. All lead to nowhere.
All I know is that I tread a vast wilderness.
I perceive only shadows sometimes, I confess.
I would love to find meaning which I would then share
With all those who will have it. I’d be not a star.

Am I safe in believing that fear is my friend
Even when I’m so fearful that death seems the way
To short circuit existence to end the deep pain?
Any fool with a conscience knows that is insane.
If my fear has some meaning, perhaps it’s to play
A big part in my growth that my soul may ascend.

It’s A Good Life

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s a Good life, America. Don’t say it’s not.
We owe all to the monster who treats us so well.
Nowhere else in our long history have we seen
Such a Wonderful tyrant. Don’t say that he’s mean.
We should all give him praise now, while under his spell.
If we make the child angry, we could risk a lot.

He had some friends to play with. He wished them away.
With the point of a finger he orders his wrath.
It is Good that he does this, though. He can’t do wrong.
If you cannot agree, then you do not belong!
He is Brilliant, and simply a fine psychopath.
Everyday is a Great day. What else could we say?

It was nice in the old time when souls weren’t at stake
And when truth was a constant, along with respect.
But this monster won’t know that. No power has he
To read even his own thoughts, as one can well see.
This sick child of a man will do harm if unchecked.
We have met our own darkness. Will we come awake?

Sedentarium

TheMagicRealist.com

If you got off that lard ass and did some real work
And perhaps breathed some fresh air, would that put a dent
In the thick glass protecting you from the outside
Where reality charbroils what isn’t deep fried?
When the body betrays you, will you then repent?
Get yourself a new lifestyle, you beleaguered jerk!

Everyone needs their bottom line. I understand.
I’ve flipped my share of burgers and scrubbed a few floors.
I could vegetate in a cube from nine ‘til five
But within a few decades, I’d not be alive.
Some communion with nature the spirit adores.
Step outside that cramped office and step on some land.

Incomplete is the life filled with too much to do
And no time to recover from doing too much.
A byproduct of industry life has become.
Sedentaria settle beside the sick slum.
Virtual is the workforce who is not in touch
With some deep sense of meaning for not just a few.

Feeling Some Fear

TheMagicRealist.com

I’m a bundle of energy poised on eggshells
In the midst of a ruckus where I have no place
To live out my agenda. And to my surprise,
What I think becomes manifest before my eyes.
It is through my resistance that I may embrace
Not the most favored outcome where my true heart dwells.

I came here for experience – not to lay low.
Life is chock full of balls of yarn and time to play.
I will trip on some soul-nip whenever I can.
I’m consumed in awareness since my life began.
I don’t want to grow up to be some beast of prey.
I’m someone else among you who’s willing to grow.

I may be a tad skittish. I do play my part
In the scenes that are relevant and make most sense
For a drama conflagrated live upon stage.
I have but to perceive well, then fully engage
All the grace I’ve amassed. Surely that is immense.
Although somewhat unnerving, fear is a fresh start.

Oil and Water

TheMagicRealist.com

Oil and Water don’t mix well. What else should I know?
North and South never ended their all out race war?
Jews and Arabs will always be blood enemies?
Blacks and Whites can’t be equal? That’s not how God sees?
I guest star in a rerun. I’ve been here before.
I am black, and I know it. Gosh! Who tells me so?

Is it you who reminds me, Miss Trash, on your rant?
It’s not looks… rather actions that define a man
Or a woman. One could ask if you’re either one.
A sick child will spew rancor and do it for fun.
If you could have a TV show based on the klan,
You might want not a black boss. I’d think just a scant.

So, a popular loud mouth with off-the-wall views
About just about everything barring the dark,
Crafts a base learning moment. I’m smack back in school.
You ignored the one voice that plead, “Shut your mouth, fool!”
With your teaching credential, you have made your mark.
It’s a shame that the others must now pay your dues.

My Awareness of What Is

TheMagicRealist.com

My awareness of what is can keep myself stuck
On the roadway of life. It is hard to get past
All the sameness. Sometimes I can’t hear myself think.
My acquaintance with boredom could drive me to drink.
I detest holding patterns. How long will this last?
Since this happens to me, does it make my life suck?

I can tolerate traffic when we’re not in cars.
People seem to be not as quick to flip the bird.
Behind metal and glass, one might feel he kicks ass,
But in person, if you raise your fist, he will pass.
While on roadways, some nice folks are easily stirred
To brute force confrontation – but not while in bars.

Keep the mind off the hear and now, and on the road.
Do not look through the side windows at what is passed.
What’s ahead becomes now in the blink of an eye.
And what’s now becomes past fast. No one can deny.
I have tons of awareness – enough to outlast
Any standstill in life where I need not be towed.

Is It Something You’ll Say?

TheMagicRealist.com

Is it something you’ll say that will put you away
Through asylum, impeachment or natural cause?
Is it something that you may have already said
To someone who is wired or sleeps in your bed?
You’ve become a fine screwup. You deserve applause
Before you have completed you very last day.

You bit off a big chunk. Is it too much for you
Given apprenticeship with the art of your deal?
‘Lock Her Up!’ …did I hear you say? What about now?
If you both did some time maybe that would allow
Such a railroaded nation to finally heal.
Why not find a way out? That’s the right thing to do.

You said once, a frail woman would need lots of rest
If she took on high office. Your humor is fine.
You’re no pillar of strength. Your base will see the light
Through the long-darkened tunnel grow ever more bright.
When your girl child is threatened, you will then resign.
The nation will recover. It’s all for the best.

I Get What I Expect

TheMagicRealist.com

I can know that my thought is where I left it last.
Once I notice that, I can do something with it.
I can score a few points if I make that my goal.
Much of life is like tossing a ball through a hole.
I create not by thinking it out as I sit.
When the thought has become me, I hold it steadfast.

I would like such to happen. This is the best start.
Because when I identify what I prefer
I’ll become a vibrational match to the same.
It’s the sure way that I know to sharpen my game.
When aware of how I feel, no thought can occur
That would bring about failure. That is playing smart.

As I move about mindfully, awkward in form
While I dribble the game piece and stake out my turn,
Most of what can but happen will not be by chance.
When I stare at that hoop, I’m in pure thought expanse.
If I don’t make it this time, that’s no one’s concern
But my own. Other players don’t weather my storm.