Tag Archive | poetry

Ron Running YellowBook

TheMagicRealist.com

Some books are well read like the readers they own.
They don’t lie around dormant nor do their soul mates.
Some books stand amid dust upon vacated shelves.
Since their readers don’t read, they are left to themselves
To embelish what every good book advocates:
The desire of folks to explore the unknown.

Some books like to run, but no book likes to swim.
It’s a matter of preference what books like to do.
We don’t need to work out, but it helps, just the same.
We’re as different as snowflakes. We each have a name.
In fact, we’ve a few names, each giving a clue
To our true inner nature without pseudonym.

Some books come in yellow… Not all, by the way.
We’re a multiple mixture of chroma and hue.
Most folks call me Ron, and I run super-fast.
I’m the mild-mannered type. I’m not here to kick ass.
I am Ron Running YellowBook. That name will do.
It’s as weird as all get-out and easy to say.

Life’s Buffet

TheMagicRealist.com

…A magnificent lineup – A feast fit for kings…
This life is a Banquet for palate and taste.
And it’s simply no matter that things may be there
That are not to my liking. ‘No need to despair.
I just pass those things by. There is no time to waste
Finding fault with the lineup and other such things.

By default, I’m invited. I’m one of the race
Of the billion-fold dining in this earthy hall.
The fine dishes are many – too many to choose.
How could I sample all? Some things I must refuse.
I don’t think that my preferences cater to all.
We each eat life differently. That’s no disgrace.

It’s not wise nor appropriate that I complain
About food that I think shouldn’t be in my sight.
Because I’m just a guest at this feast like the rest.
I should bless people’s differences. This way is best.
You may like eating things that, to me, don’t seem right
But through mutual respect, we have so much to gain.

Eternity’s Portal

TheMagicRealist.com

My future cannot be about what is past.
The two are like apples and lug nuts to me.
Of course, I’m the same then as now, in a way,
But by growing, we’re distant, as night is by day.
If I live in right NOW, I can very well see
That this moment is powerful, but it won’t last…

…As, the next moment, powerful… fast on the heels
Of the previous one, will take form in the mind.
Not a thing that has happened pertains to right now.
It’s a cumbersome paradigm shift, given how
Our programming goes against how we’re designed.
One should pay better listening to how one feels…

…Every day, every second… from this moment on,
If I keep my now current, I’ll be as I am.
I’ll continue to think and to speak of what’s now
And then come to know that I’ve not changed, somehow.
Fresh new thoughts for today is a worthy program.
Through Eternity’s Portal I am ever drawn.

Desire Is the Beginning of All Creation

TheMagicRealist.com

When one ponders the nature of cause and effect
There’s a peace in one’s knowing that surpasses all.
It’s desire that causes creation, we know,
And creating in joy is what makes our hearts grow.
Desire is the calling; we answer that call
With the things that we do and the lives we erect.

In allowing desire to find way to you,
You not only gain pleasure from having it done.
You will have new perspective from which to want more.
If that sounds quite peculiar, it’s best to ignore
Any thinking that doesn’t yield absolute fun
As misfortune can never come out of the blue.

So, do want what you want. This kind world will comply
To the will that is in you and lighting your fire.
If you don’t follow through with desire that is strong,
Everything in your living may just turn out wrong.
There is nothing to shame about full-blown desire.
What is shameful is scorning the will with a sigh.

Rain Sylvania

TheMagicRealist.com

There’s a thing about rain that my heart won’t disdain.
It will keep folks inside, out of others’ affairs
So their shape-shifting eyes, in their neighborly fare,
Can’t catch up on my business. Folks should be aware
That I do my own thing, not that anyone cares.
If you’re that hooked on folly, come out in the rain!

Put on your best tutu with water resist
And gavotte past my window with smartass in hand.
Take a me-mie of me as you’re tempted to pee.
I might stream you my shtick so you’ll do it hands free.
It’s a shame your garage door is shut by demand
Of a powerful Lady who seems rather pissed.

I dare you, dear neighbor, delight in the storm
Just the same as I do but with just a slight twist.
Park your butt in your yard like you usually do
And collect all your intel with rain helping you
To deliver wet gossip no sponge can resist.
I’ll enjoy the rain. You just stick to the norm.

To Feel Better

TheMagicRealist.com

Feeling Better’s the root of my every desire.
It’s the reason for anything that I could want.
Feeling Better, in fact, is the sole reason why
Any creature wants anything. Should this imply
That our feelings are fickle – a bit nonchalant?
They are guidance for us so that joy we’ll acquire.

If you had one goal only, then what would it be?
Were it to feel good, you would soon meet all goals.
You’d be happy, successful, and full of pure love.
You would shine like the light of the sun up above.
Know that heart is the master; the mind it controls.
Be successfully happy, and dare to be free.

Feeling Better gets closer to what we desire
And the two are connected in general sense.
Practice feeling good, then anything you give care
Will turn out just fine. Feeling good is like prayer
And our life becomes purposeful… filled with suspense
About dreams that come true and the lives we’ll inspire.

My Purpose In Life Is Joy

TheMagicRealist.com

One may ask of the kitten, “What justifies you
To just lie there immune to the chaos around
While we humans run ragged with cares up our butts?”

That which can’t be addressed will then drive ourselves nuts.
But the kitten will answer with softness of sound,
“I just purr for a living; that’s all that I do!”

There’s a lesson the kitten is willing to teach
To the human who often gets lost in the game.
The basis of life is the freedom to be
And its purpose is joy, most emphatically!
When one cares less more often, one might take the blame
For all others’ misfortunes, as heard in their speech.

I am freer to choose newer pathways to joy
With each dawning moment successive and pure.
In my joyous growth I do add to the sum
Of all that exists now and all that will come.
All-That-Is will partake, and my joy shall endure.
My life is my kitten, and I am its toy.

I Am an Expression of All Creation

TheMagicRealist.com

All that is physical came from what’s not.
I extend from creative nonphysical Source.
I am so much more than this body I know
Though it is part of me because nature says so
And also the law of this space-time, of course.
I’m of spiritual origin. This means a lot!

Am I the god that I pray to at night
Asking provident peace to engage as I sleep?
Do I ask The AlmightyThe One where I came?
Would it be blasphemy if we both were the same?
I am the good shepherd as well as the sheep.
We are one and the same, and that feels about right.

In this powerful now is the key that I hold
For allowing the flowing of Source that is me.
The better I feel the more Source I allow.
There’s no better feeling my Source than right now.
When connection is made it is easy to be
At my best, growing wiser and much less controlled.

This World Has My Back

TheMagicRealist.com

This world has my back and my mother’s brown eyes
Just as surely as all things I’ve ever dreamed of.
Since the world has these things – all existence, in fact,
I should call that wellbeing where good thoughts are backed
With the promise that goodness and kindness and love
Are my birthright. I don’t have to listen to lies.

I must reach for the feeling of wellbeing first
So that everything else will then fall into place.
If I’m troubled, I feel like this world makes no sense.
I oft’ sink into stasis when life gets intense.
To remember life’s wonder is my saving grace.
Pretty soon, lucid living will be well rehearsed.

I am selfish enough, now, to follow my bliss.
When I do so, I tap into natural flow
Of pure energy, positive and of my own.
Should I act like I’m happy? I’ve no call to moan.
So perhaps I should live what the wise ones must know…
This world has my back. There is nothing amiss.

Pillar Performer

TheMagicRealist.com

For my last day on earth I shall hang by the face
To a branch that is sturdy, yet tender and new.
To spring forth and perform natural acts is pure bliss.
I don’t take life’s meal lightly; no leaf I’ll dismiss.
I convert all to protein as fast as I chew.
Though I’m slow and deliberate, I run a fast race.

I’ve a lifetime to ponder and munch as I go
Automatic and focused on fattening fill.
In a multi ring circus no tent could contain
I’m an expert already and don’t have to train
For the feats I will die for. I do have free will
To remain from the spotlight. I steal no one’s show.

My death would come quickly if I became prey
In the beak of some dinosaur with a sharp eye.
Our act would end smartly, by nature’s demand.
Those who strive toward the big top will well understand
That the show must go on even though creatures die
And replace one another throughout nature’s Day.

Conceptual Hypothetics

TheMagicRealist.com

Hypothetically speaking, and straight off the grid,
And with utmost propanity possibly pure,
I must stand by my tank; I have me to thank
For positions I hold. With my wealth, I out rank
Any group that I chose. There’s a possible cure
To most any solution that isn’t well hid.

My tank is a treasure – a place of deep thought
On the puzzles I give it and pay it to solve.
I’m not bothered by facts; I kick back and relax.
My workers work best without me on their backs.
By token the same, though, solutions involve
Quite a bit of pure theory and how things should ought.

Thoughts are real things,” most wealth wizards have said
While the concept still boggles the everyday mind.
It’s a fact that all theory has birth in the brain
And when thought can’t escape, it will drive one insane.
My tank is not fancy nor one of a kind.
It’s a toy for the rich to turn gold into lead.

Frolicking Folksicles

TheMagicRealist.com

Frolicking Folksicles flaunting for fun
Among those who might eat them must take balls of ice.
And they’re colored, enhancing the eater’s delight.
Were they black and white only, it wouldn’t seem right
To consume them. Just looking would surely suffice
As one’s licking gets boring when all’s said and done.

Folksicles firmly propend to make peace.
It’s a principle pinnacle to their affairs
Of the heart and the mind and the spirit within.
With abundance of slurp, there is no need to sin.
There isn’t much else one could suck. But who cares?
If it weren’t for bright Folksicles, warring would cease!

What gets folks in a pickle, most Folksicles say,
Is the way we lose focus and blither head on
‘Til we sensate the melting – Folksicle in hand.
If our mess is sufficient, we voice our demand
That the sun should take cover – at least until dawn
So that Folksicle eating will yield no dismay.

Satisfactorial Combinatorics

TheMagicRealist.com

Suffix tor’s at the core of a syllabic war
Between what one wants and what oft’ one expects.
If believing is being without a sore clue
Then whatever you’re winning will satisfy you.
Any feeling of tension that thought disrespects
Puts a force field around what we love and adore.

Oh, Creator of Being, if you exist how
Then on earth do we know you? We’ve screwed with your word
Over centuries by now. When one speaks about facts,
We’re submerged in pure fantasy due to our acts.
What is known about God is well spoke by the bird
Who knows only Being and living the Tao.

Take a chance that your being is seeing its way
Toward a better believing for each now to come.
Be the one among many to whom life’s a breeze.
One can call oneself lucky as far as one sees
That a magnate’s no more than a lowly street bum
Who has cashed in on spiritual wealth day by day.

Utensoids United

TheMagicRealist.com

Utensoids United in condiment space
Sets the scene for first contact of quite the third kind
On a wall, in a house on a rock spinning ‘round
In its own starry kitchen where space does abound
And without incognito, they’re easy to find
Or to decline their visit, if that be the case.

Utensoids can stand being hung by the neck
And it doesn’t upset them to be used as tools.
Since they’re built really tough, you can’t use them enough
To uncover their cover. You could call their bluff
But they just might leave master cooks looking like fools
As in secret, they shape shift; there’s no need to check.

The Utensoids have come to keep watch on us all.
Not a single one wants to do harm nor insult.
If you grab a Utensoid, do so with intent.
You don’t want the damned thing to mistake what you meant.
If you handle it well, good will be the result.
If you’re cool with Utensoids, then stand proud and tall!

Talk To Me, Mama!

TheMagicRealist.com

Krakkabukkle-KaBoooom! That’s what I like to hear.
Mama Nature is talking. Let’s give her respect.
Whether quick burning arrow with rumble in wake
Or night whitening flashes that know no mistake,
Nature’s message is clear. Our fair ego is checked
By the Masterful Lady who crafts Atmosphere.

Show your thundermost cloud! Let me feel you shout loud!
Even though I can hear every whisper you speak.
There’s a world who don’t know you. You have every right
To react in a voice of intent and of might.
Strike me dead. I will join you. It’s truth that I seek.
I’ll commune well among you. To you, I’m avowed.

Why I make such a habit to hear Mother speak
Is a thing of scant value to ponder too much.
I just like a fine Mama who’ll run it down hard.
One is ill to complain that She plays the ‘wet’ card.
She’s one bitch you can’t fuck with nor lie to or such.
She’s the feminine version of deadly mystique.

Not In My Time Space Reality

TheMagicRealist.com

To the scientist centered in flat earth and Mars
The Big Bang occurs everywhere all in a flash.
Everywhere outside galaxies expands  in size.
This prolific phenomenon speaks through our sighs.
What’s outside this expanding is anyone’s hash.
What else could exist but space, planets and stars?

Now, the answer to that is a thing we call time.
It’s the fourth quad-dimensional piece of the pie.
Altogether, reality’s clear to perceive.
My perceiving is knowing in what I believe.
My wisdom comes partly from what’s in the sky
And the rest from attempting to make verses rhyme.

If I did have you fooled for a while, I’ve done well.
It’s my pleasure to do so for science’s sake.
Reality’s boring. It must be made fun.
I’m the son-of-a-gunest that’s under this sun.
Not that science is useless… That thought’s a mistake.
Now that this poem is finished, there’s no more to tell.

What Gives Us the Ass?

TheMagicRealist.com

This Ass we’ve been given… this judgment we hold
Toward those nations we feel that aren’t grown up enough
To develop big toys and display their might…
Who has given us right to tell others what’s right?
We are like stubborn children who like to play rough
With strategic mind warfare. This story gets old.

Some old kid on the playground is acting the fool
Like an overstuffed time bomb that’s ready to burst?
Why we pay such attention and crave being tense
Is the same as why others create such events
That then get nations talking and fearing the worst.
The mind of the ne’er-do-well is a fine tool.

Such is life during recess… No teachers in sight…
We have no playground monitors watching our deeds.
And our toys are quite dangerous; our threats are a bluff.
Are we players who know when enough is enough?
Not a player is crazy so no one proceeds
Down the ultimate rabbit hole without a fight.

We Know Stuff Already

TheMagicRealist.com

Hey, we know stuff already, though new in the house
With our feather still soggy from compacted space.
We don’t have complex brains nor chick self-help degrees.
We’re pre-programmed with guidance; we’ve no need for knees.
Such tools are for hoping and praying for grace
And for nurturing thoughtforms in line with the louse.

Our mother, herself, had no mom to look to.
She did hatch in captivity… nursed by machine
Yet, she knew how to raise us. All mothers know how
To tune in to what’s natural, indeed, with the Tao.
She scratched for us lovingly; then she got mean
Just to teach us a valuable lesson she knew.

Our dad is cool also, raised just like his mate.
He’s the one who said, “Dear, lay our eggs over here
Where those humans won’t find them and snatch them from us.
I will bring you your meals, so don’t put up a fuss.
When our babies arrive, they will live without fear.”

So, take it from us; inner guidance is great!

Rock Paper Scissors

TheMagicRealist.com

Black Lives – That’s a matter pertaining to me
Just the same as it did half a century ago
When the fear was the white-hooded witches let loose
Wreaking havoc and living by way of the noose
And the lynching and bombings and crimes we don’t know
So, perhaps my believing is now what I see.

There were stereos then, also stereotypes.
Both were loud and obnoxious and prone to the brawl.
There were also those games that are played even now
Where the zero-sum outcomes are preplanned somehow
And uneasiness comes with the sound of a drawl.
Ornate stained glass ceilings have turned to crack pipes.

There is usually a winner and rarely a tie.
We know one beats another in circular chase.
Stiff black Russian roulette can be served over ice.
Black blood does bleed red. This one fact should suffice.
The gears keep on meshing. It’s all about race.
I don’t bark at the bugbear; I know I might die!

Ego: Mirror of the Horse

TheMagicRealist.com

Don’t mind my beast. I’m a bastard today.
I’ve a bit of the bitters; that’s just how things are.
Some government worker said I cannot vote?
When the system is screwed I become the scapegoat.
I become wild and crazy with outburst bizarre
And it seems I’m the ogre; their system’s OK.

Says the system that I voted elsewhere today.
It’s a cock sucking lie! I don’t care what it shows!
I’m a flesh and blood human. I don’t understand
How they bow to machine and give me the back hand.
Maybe government workers are robots… who knows?
Yet, if I am to vote, I must do it their way.

I’m ashamed of the way that I acted today.
I had no idea there’d be an exam.
I feel much like a horse someone’s trying to break.
If I bask in my wildness, is that a mistake?
I’m prepared for the next test. I won’t have to cram.
This damned horse is exhausted with no more to say.

Gated Community Logic

TheMagicRealist.com

The community’s gated. Just what does that mean?
Simply, zeros and ones must be put through the test
To determine what gates they have passed through by now.
By endorsing their circuitry’s past they allow
Just the best of the best; in fact, screw all the rest.
God bless those who know how to keep a yard clean.

As we’re mated and fated through life we assume
That our truth table’s flawless like digital flush.
We are OR’ed and/or NOT’ed, determined by creed
Then Exclusive OR gated, then sorted by breed.
When we miss a clock cycle, we’re quite prone to blush.
I must hire a workforce who’s good with a broom.

It is quiet as hell here. There isn’t much crime.
The streets of doped silicon melt winter snow.
There’s a path to corruption through bi-stable states.
There’s agreement about what a good member hates.
We have one foot substrated in earth ground below
And the other one striving to monetize time.

I’m Not Here To FIX Anything

TheMagicRealist.com

Like the Maytag repairman, I came with some tools
And some skills and a passion to find things to fix.
I like breaking things down and then building things up.
If it weren’t for my tasks, I’d be such a sick pup.
I don’t run for office, nor do politics
And perhaps that’s what separates me from most fools.

That would not be the case, though, had I not been told
I’m not here to fix anything. Nothing is broke.
Things are constantly changing and expanding so
There is constant renewal and much room to grow.
So, so much for my fixing; I’m best to unyoke
My life from such missions that make one grow old.

Find release from all struggle and seek to have fun.
Find joy, and in doing so one will align
With the fantastic, expanding rhythm of being
In a universe made for believing and seeing
Wherein any problem will work out just fine.
I’m not here to fix anything under the sun.

Art of the Autist

TheMagicRealist.com

The Autists are coming. Indeed, they are here.
They’ve been teaching among us for decades by now.
I am proud they are with us. They’ve nothing to hide.
I’d intended to be one myself, but I died
From my wounds incurred wrongly by default somehow.
I am social, somewhat, and that’s my greatest fear.

Where the stronger the Autist from birth through ‘til grown
The more God’s protection is given because
Those who can’t be adjusted or harmed into place
Show that love, unconditional, all should embrace.
It is clear our conditioning should take a pause.
It is wiser, perhaps, to just leave them alone.

It is funny; society says something’s wrong
As they look for a cause as if it’s some disease:
Too much crap in the water, folks, let’s tone it down.
Too severely they’re happy. We must make them frown.”

We’ve the right to let others do well as they please.
It’s a massive inclusiverse where all belong.

Near Perfect Nonsense

TheMagicRealist.com

I’ve a fond sense for nonsense that’s naturally pure.
If one strives for perfection, it’s always the case
That when foolishness fettered, then nurtured the same
Will recover in time to return to the game
Of living life loony. How goony the space
Of nonsensical numskulls with mirth to endure.

It may be nothing’s perfect in terms of nonsense.
Many pieces of silly must fall into place
So they dance about smartly in demented minds.
I’ve a fondness for jokesters. God bless their behinds.
I would be one if not already the case.
So much humor and laughter and fun I’d dispense.

Progress is perfection in some people’s hearts
And a verb is a noun just because it’s a word.
A fun clock is a camera; its film is the soul.
There’s no need for development; that’s not the goal.
Take your time from the hippo instead of the bird.
It is how we make peace before war ever starts.

Conjugation of Daho

TheMagicRealist.com

Daho was a state of the union one time.
It took pride in infinitive providence such
That its residents felt everything was just fine
Until when they realized a better design
To include all the attributes grammar likes much
All to exhibit representation sublime

A verb does have voice. It also has mood.
And on good days a good verb will sing a good song
So we know what on bad days a bad verb will do.
Don’t give a verb guff; it will predicate you
To whatever it’s feeling. Don’t make it feel wrong.
Any verb can get nasty and treat a dude rude.

Now, back to the case of Daho. As we know
To live now and to dream of tomorrow come past
Does make a verb tense, and Dahoans as well
So they came up with number and person to tell
All the nation Dahoans don’t do things half assed.
It’s a state now where grammar fanatics can go.

So, there’s Idaho, Youdaho; He, She and Itdahos.
That’s on the west side where singulars stay.
On the east side there’s Wedaho; Theydaho too.
Since they’re plural, they get along well with the You.
It was back in the day when Dahoans had sway
Until conquered by gerunds with will to transpose.

Lesson Review

TheMagicRealist.com

…Let’s begin this again; There Is Nothing Wrong Here.
Have I learned much too little from practicing life?
There is meant to be contrast; I like it that way
But upon my arrival, I speak of foul play.
To the beat of the drum and the trill of the fife
I must keep my thoughts focused on good will and cheer.

I am, and I know it, a fountain of speech
And since given this work I must see its way through
But should I stick to comedy and push aside
The more tragic components of life? I confide
In the wisdom of Inner Source who guides me to
The wellbeing I well deserve well within reach.

To be is to be and to not is to not.
I should emulate either or both as they are.
Who should give a rat’s ass about what’s up with me?
That’s perhaps not the issue. It’s simply to be.
When the task is just being, one’s mood ascends far
Into places where chronic dis-ease is forgot.

Verbal Plutocracy

TheMagicRealist.com

…I can’t use the word ‘android.’ It’s now just a name
Like so many unwary words hijacked these days.
If I use it, I risk myself being mistook
And whenever that happens, I seem like a crook.
Forget about ‘robots’ assuming our ways.
It has happened already. We’re hot in this game.

Some boy said ‘google’ one day on the floor.
‘Twas not even a word but has rolled into fame.
It’s grown moss on its own to the point where it’s now
The most baby-like utterance that we allow.
I applaud the fine youngster for making a name
For himself and for masses of others and more.

But I also commend the sharp critic in me
For observing how language can market its parts
And how war against structure continues despite
Futile efforts to stop it. So, does it seem right
That our words become ransom for few greedy hearts?
How immune to disaster must words have to be?

Reintarnation

TheMagicRealist.com

Does this count as a life? I don’t care either way
But only in terms of the marrow and bone.
There’s too much going on; there is thickening air.
If the purpose of life is to love and to share,
Have I done much of either? I quest on my own
To unravel life’s mystery day after day.

This life I am given may be near its end.
What manner of taste does it leave in the heart?
I don’t care that I’m going; it bothers me not.
It is where that I’m going that soothes me a lot.
I just hope I don’t have to come back and then start
A whole new exposure to re-comprehend.

This world is a trip. Any creature would say.
And it ain’t like I’m troubled or deeply depressed.
I’ve just seen enough traffic on these busy streets.
I behold mass congestion’s miraculous feats
And I come to concluding that I should invest
In a starship where I would just then warp away.

Vacating Vacating

TheMagicRealist.com

We could visit the spot where old Humpty dumped
Or the land where first creatures first pissed in the breeze.
We could scale the vast, mountainous, rock hardened dick.
We could watch it erupt and be covered in thick
Molten mayhem. We could live what common man sees.
Let’s begin our vacating, folks. I’m really pumped!

What could be more deserving of travelers to be
Than to map a vacation from end until start
With every detail most recursively planned
So that all in the family will well understand
That vacating is not a pure science, but art
And the spaces we visit may well set us free.

We could Hip Hip Hurrah and yank doodle in snow
Or act fat, dumb and happy for selfie stick’s sake.
But wait – Where we’ll end up in time is right here.
We could cancel our plans and then live without fear.
We’d avoid any chance of mistakes we might make.
Since we’ll be here right after vacating, why go?

Succeeding at Joy

TheMagicRealist.com

I hear joy is the product of drive and success
Where the drive is pure energy shaped by the mind.
The amount of the joy I let myself feel
Is a strong indicator success is for real.
This mantra math formula’s method is kind.
When I’m feeling my best, I’ve much love to express.

I do write about joy, and then, about pain
Not to give one a tour of emotional scale
But to leave fossil records in deep neural folds
In the cortex of consciousness. Nature beholds
That when I feel good I am best to avail
My soul of life’s treasures. There’s so much to gain.

The allowing of joy into life is the key
Though it’s oft’ better said than is actually done.
The trick is in tracking each moment with care
Being conscious of feeling and being aware
Of whatever’s uplifting and constitutes fun.
The equation is sound. Is that easy to see?