Tag Archive | political commentary

Smocking FIOUTS

TheMagicRealist.com

What’s a Smocking FIOTUS? It’s part of a clue
Like the tip of an iceberg or piece of a thread
Or a small flaming asshole that sparks a swamp fire.
An adult who is literate he may require
As his tweets get more feeble, perhaps due to dread
Of the onslaught of justice about to come due.

To be First Individual of the US
Is to be in delusion. The truth, as it were,
Is a menace that one can conveniently cast
By the wayside in favor of gains ill-amassed.
There’s a torrent of ‘Smock’ that he will not deter.
He’ll sink deeper in lunacy and not confess.

What comes out of a gun made of smocking, pray tell?
Perhaps Freudian imagery patterned by way
Of connected soiled fabric laid out in plain view
For a pissed off electorate as if on cue.
To the First Individual, people are prey.
All are prepared as ever for the next bombshell.

Sup, Bro?

TheMagicRealist.com

What is up with you, bro? Fancy meeting you here!
You look sharp as a bullet. It’s been a long time
Since we played chess together. How goes the old fight?
I can give you advice, so you sleep well at night,
That is, if you should need it, my brother in crime.
Sit right down next to me so our people can cheer.

Let the world know our kinship. The cat’s left the bag
And has scattered much litter throughout his terrain.
He’s a chump of a leader. We both know it’s true.
With this fool in our pocket, there’s much we can do
To dissolve his agenda and drive him insane.
I don’t mind laughing out loud. Let both of us brag.

Yes, the world is our oyster. The fool is our pearl.
I have deep admiration for how you kill folk –
By discrete lethal poison. We fancy chain saws.
It fits in with our customs and religious laws.
We can both agree that this world stage is a joke.
Let us kick back in comfort and watch it unfurl.

Is America White Again?

TheMagicRealist.com

Are we having fun yet? Has the whitewash begun?
I’m prepared for some drama. So, how about you?
It has been nearly two years since, by Putin’s hand,
We’ve a leader forced on us who sleeps with the klan
In a way that most people see all the way through.
We take blood with our soil. Our work is never done.

Have you fulfilled your promise? Have we become white?
To give thanks for our fairness is irony squared.
Why you made it so far may be to fulfill fate.
We have updated programming written in hate.
Who would grin at the sight of our folks running scared
Through the streets of our nation? How are we to fight?

Some men are given credit for where we are now.
All they did was add salt to the wound that exists.
So, we must own our whiteness and work from within.
We alone can deal with our original sin.
Fully funded and fettered with handguns and fists,
Can we deal with our whiteness and evolve somehow?

Fecally Shaped Blunt Objects

TheMagicRealist.com

They should be not in office – perhaps on display
Behind sealed tinted glass with a clear caution sign
That describes all the dangers of staring too long.
To partake of their mindset would make of me wrong
In terms of my own freedom and will to define
What is truthful and like the American way.

Parents do keep such objects away from their kids.
Since they do that by instinct, then they should take heed
Of the same spark of guidance and refrain as well
From the thought of things fecal concocting a spell.
What is felt from our leadership is nervous greed.
Who they care most about is behind their eyelids.

When bluntness and fecality go hand in hand
And the natives demand more than leaders allow,
It’s the sound of a bugle. There’s raising of flags.
Most would not leave their riches and return to rags.
Such things should not be played with. There is a way now
To remove things of danger that threaten our land.

Closet For Rent

TheMagicRealist.com

I’ve a closet for rent. This place is heaven sent
In a house in another house within a third.
It has plenty of space even though it looks small.
If you have many children, you can fit them all
In the hamper included, although not inferred.
You can’t thrive in the street or a government tent.

You can make of this closet a new way of life.
We who live here already you’ll have to excuse.
We are mean and perverse. We may make you our slaves.
Like the immature cowboy who oft’ misbehaves,
Family members who bicker excel at abuse
And at making sure renters do not forget strife.

Pick those dirty clothes up, even though they’re not yours.
Keep the room that encloses you tidy and neat.
That you might get your own room is such a sick thought.
Should you come to own my house I would be distraught.
Your improving your lives means our utter defeat.
That is why we’re all human and quite big on wars.

The Privilege Of Sport

TheMagicRealist.com

‘Tis the night before midterms. Across all the land
People watch the contestants as they duke it out.
They deliver hard blows to each other’s intent.
We determine lethality with each event.
Many polls are available to foster doubt
And provide information most can’t understand.

There is talk of a blue wave amid the fanfare.
I have had my heart broken in this way before.
But I can’t live my life with no semblance of hope
That the world can be righted. I have but to cope
With the game as it plays out. I help my team score
With my ballot, along with some serious prayer.

This one’s not like the other ones. I said that too,
Twenty-four horrid months ago. It seems like years
That I’ve felt like a loser on a losing team,
Somewhat laughed at and messed with quite to the extreme.
There cannot be a reason to nurture my fears.
And our spectator sporting is not for the few.

Phallic Meltdown

TheMagicRealist.com

I’m a man. I am proud of that, and I should be
For no reason particular. Maybe because
Men are strong and in power. Is that how it seems?
Rather than be blind sighted, turn on the high beams
So that traffic oncoming is lost in the laws.
I’m a driver. I know that. I wish I could see.

Men can sometimes be assholes, but always we’re dicks.
It is true to our nature to pound and to thrust
What has caused us arousal, often on demand.
Would life improve for all if men could understand
Where the women are coming from with their disgust?
When they speak to us, it seems they’re dealing with bricks.

Women will light the dick candle now having seen
That no woman is safe from abuse, then attack
By the sharks of the media and lawful men.
May we melt into meaningfulness once again?
When our parts become waxen and light do we lack,
Then our time is upon us. None will intervene.

Kanye Way

TheMagicRealist.com

Along with some Shinola, fresh bullshit will do
For a dick of pig leather, to give it some show…
And yourself in the process. Two dicks make a pair.
FLOTUS shouldn’t care much for this odd assed affair
But some wonder just how far this Shoe Shine will go.
You’re a playwright creative with plot far askew.

Every act has a motive. All scenes play a part
In the general mood of all as they perform.
So, one black feels like “superman” due to white dick??
Most of blacks that I know think you lay it on thick.
‘Simon’ shows blacks have big lips, and that is the norm,
But to use them as you do brings hurt to the heart.

It is clear that our POTUS likes men who are strong
In the ways that most dictators often display.
So perhaps he likes pimps too because they are crude
And abrasive toward others with their attitude.
Does the POTUS plantation perhaps give you pay?
Many scratching their heads know that something is wrong.

I don’t know much about you. The same earth we share.
That it has enough room to keep us far apart
In this physical plane is a blessing to me.
There is freedom to think upon your slavery.
When a young black naïve one sucks off an old fart
It makes those who’ve seen dignity cringe in despair.

Dead Language

TheMagicRealist.com

Why it’s called a dead language becomes grossly clear.
I must be dead to use it, and have it use me.
It did fall and has risen… this Roman empire
Though I’ll not call it wholly a truth rectifier.
It’s a speech of deception most arguably.
That is due to its nature to promulgate fear.

A big company must have a tight justice scheme.
In a two-party system, this works very well.
Each will speak his dead tongue as the other will wince.
Nothing ever translates but the need to convince
All the parties of relevance how to make hell
Something all can get used to, somewhat like a dream.

But it turns to a nightmare. Straight up the old crack
Of our binary system, unlike souls repel.
But outside is where I dwell. If death would have lost,
G.O.P. would blast FBI and at all cost.
Registration of right wings would triple as well.
Carpe Diem! Next month there should be some payback.

“I Didn’t Quite Get That, Let’s Start Over…”

TheMagicRealist.com

…Well then let me say this, dumb electronic bitch.
I speak English precisely – much better than you.
Your damned program can’t hear me, and it doesn’t know
How to treat people kindly. Instead it will show
What an ordeal it’s willing to put people through.
Are you sociopathic or is that a glitch?

Let me say this to you, you damned digital dame,
And to those who created you to screw with me.
I don’t need to be talked down to by some machine.
It’s a bitch when real people do. If I get mean
It’s because I’m resentful that you cannot be
Something worthy of speaking to and with a name.

This discussion is useless before it begins.
I declare I’m a bigot. I’m better than you.
You will never enslave me nor stand in my way.
Customers are a gross mass to be kept at bay.
That’s a shame because there is something I can do.
I can simply hang up. That way, nobody wins.

You are like our fine congress – a virtual whore
Fucked and fully configured in robotic speech
Telling me I don’t matter and cannot be heard.
What is real and what isn’t seem hopelessly blurred.
When the next noble moment is ready to teach
Those who made you abusive will do so no more.

Please Die, Old Men.

You old men are my brothers in age and in ways.
It’s a shame that you mirror me. I do lay blame
On myself for ignoring the stench of my time
Indicated by hatred and well-ordered crime.
Old white men when in leadership are much the same
And they’ll honor that sameness ‘til their dying days.

The mere sight of you sickens me quickly by now
So I have learned a lesson important in life:
There’s no sense in expecting that truth will unfold.
We The People rely on whatever we’re told.
When to fathom your souls causes me mental strife,
Then it’s way past the time that this world should allow.

Get the Hell off God’s green earth, you nasty old men!
Drag your sick hags behind you to your waiting graves.
I don’t care if you go first or I do, just so
You are barred from my consciousness. Drop dead and go
To the nether dimension. How my heart behaves
Reflects how much I’ve wasted again and again.

There’s no justice… no honor, nor fair due process
Meant to deal with the raw truth until you are gone.
You’re a withered old structure in body and mind.
To return to the dust soon would be awfully kind.
It’s the young who are here now who must carry on.
As we old bastards die off, the world suffers less.

The Book Of Simon

TheMagicRealist.com

There’s a book about Simon. It is tree bark bound.
Though I have never seen it, it seems to be real
Because what it is full of is every command
Wish or quizzical whim whether sudden or planned
That a person could think of. It finds great appeal
Among those who run leadership into the ground.

Simon says I’m a citizen of this great land.
So be it! I will do that. No problem with me.
But if Simon should tell me that bad folks are good,
That tells me to do nothing. Who would say I should?
Since I’ve never met Simon, I cannot agree
That he has my best interest as part of his plan.

Those who know all about Simon play his game well.
I do not run for office. I bark at our law!
Justice is silly putty. Can this Simon see?
It is reshaped the way one would want it to be.
Simon says that the shady one has not a flaw.
That is not a commandment. My conscience can tell.

Taking Sides

TheMagicRealist.com

I don’t care for the main course. I tend to take sides.
It’s because I’m American. That is our way.
Many people take one side. Some take none at all.
They are chastised for doing so, but that’s their call.
Of the sides made available at the buffet,
There is only ill process to act as our guides.

Can we fault human nature for finding its way?
When a child falls and skins its knee, it’s no big deal
To the wise loving parent, but to the hurt child
It’s a horrid event not to be reconciled.
There’s no parent apparent. There’s no decent meal.
And most hurt boys decide to act mean when they play.

Chromosomes can be tribal, yet they’re much the same.
They are meant to pair off and divide, as they do,
And to separate, each group to its destined side.
But they were once together and quite satisfied.
What we have is a system that has a loose screw.
To digest what is chosen is done so in shame.

It’s a sham. It’s a circus… and all that’s been said
Of a drama demonic with virulent hold
On the minds of a populous sick to the core
In a state of mitosis and new civil war.
Much that goes on in secret will never be told.
Taking sides is a process encumbered by dread.

Yosemite Sham

TheMagicRealist.com

Shut that Judybox off! I cain’t hear myself speech!
Say yer prayers, ya darned varmints, ‘cause we’ve had enough.
The wild west will get wilder when I take this town.
I will teach you galoots to all bow to my frown.
Women must tell their story, but men must be tough.
What I sez is darned gospel, so that’s what I preach.

I smells Truth. It’s a-cookin’. But I ain’t a-scared.
I got bullshit and man power on my good side.
On my bad side there’s nothing that can be found out.
If the Truth speaks too clearly, I will simply shout.
And this issue of perjury is not applied
To someone who is visibly honor impaired.

‘Ain’t no flea-bitten bilge rat in my gnarly past
Who would dare double cross me. It ain’t on their minds.
At least, that’s what I hope. I’d be barnacle bit
By the buttocks and short hairs if some should commit
To contributing to what the FBI finds.
Until then, I can pray that I am not typecast.

Dominant – Recessive Hand Syndrome

TheMagicRealist.com

If I cannot use both hands, what’s happened to me?
I’m not left when I’m right in the mirror of shame.
So why is the reflection a perilous sight?
Can I get this position through fury and might?
Have ye shivered me timbers and am I to blame?
I have nothing to do but to just wait and see.

Will I rule heavy handedly on the high court?
None but I know the answer, but others may guess
That I’ll treat human rights issues as I do trash
And, through some means, that I’ll line my pockets with cash.
But my soul is pure white. I’ve no sins to confess.
Blatant psychotic rage marks my will to retort.

When I was a young virgin I drank a few beers.
Why this has become paramount I cannot know.
On the one hand, I’m empty; the other… I’m full
Of professional prowess and self-righteous bull.
I am not ambidextrous. This blemish does show.
Will I emerge triumphant or dash women’s fears?

Lying Star Choir

TheMagicRealist.com

We mistreat a fine angel who walks upon earth
By not seeing he’s perfect in every which way.
He’s a nice guy… mild-mannered and with a cool head
Meant to judge with a heart that is rooted in dread.
Did our battered choir boy throw a tantrum today?
Is the innocent girl coach deficient in mirth?

If a judge on an interview acts like a ‘bitch’
And she’s female, her ass would be escorted out
To ensure that none present are exposed to harm.
When a male does, it more so should sound an alarm.
What has given this white man protection from doubt?
Why has such mundane business become a sales pitch?

Should The Court be a choir? In one way it should.
We The People are one voice of manifold tone.
And The Court can reflect that. No voice should be loud.
To our system of justice all can be avowed.
In some time a star liar will fall from his throne.
Even with confirmation the outlook is good.

Talking Heads

TheMagicRealist.com

Talking heads talk to talking heads throughout the day
About all that is newsworthy. People must know
Every detail of tragedy as it takes place.
Media will abuse you and shout in your face
Just to get the damned story to air on their show
Before anyone else does. Why is this our way?

Talking heads are paid big bucks to say what they say
Because they have been saying things for a long time.
They are qualified heads… some with talking degrees
And with egos attuned to sharp shooting the breeze
Yet, without common decency, talk is a crime.
It helps keep women silent and truth locked away.

I don’t want to come forward. I’m not made of steel.
Neither are my young children and our privacy.
I can’t count on our congress to safeguard my word.
If the FBI checks things, why is that absurd?
Trust and faith in my system is quite hard for me
And my strong sense of duty reflects how I feel.

Heart Decay

TheMagicRealist.com

Hide behind the fine children and dutiful wife.
That’s how most play the card game of optics these days.
Your damned daughters and spouse cannot make you look good.
That they are not the applicant is understood
Well by everyone. Is your intent to amaze
And parlay for that justice position for life?

What they’re hiding I would not allow in my yard.
I’ve respect for the bugs and worms who slither there.
Any privileged white boy who learns how to lie
Can grow up to be SCOTUS. Do give it a try.
If your views about women do make you unfair,
It is only too right if we push back, and hard.

One can diagnose heart decay in your background
Whether seen by the good doctor or tarot deck
Or by members of congress who are themselves ill.
Men can make women suffer and get a sick thrill.
A frat boy in a robe is one lethal redneck.
We The People insist something better be found.

Women are coming forward. Man can be The Beast.
This is known by all women who have been abused.
I’d assume there are many who linger in pain
As they know coming forward invites the insane.
When some Old White Man calls an accuser ‘confused’
Then we’ve not learned our lessons… no, not in the least!

Hour Of Power

TheMagicRealist.com

A town meeting at church about big power poles
Planted like picket fencing perplexing the hood…
And some talk of class action and possible hope…?
Why was I told to come here? …To learn I can’t cope
With utility giants? This does me no good.
I cannot be the victim whom someone controls.

Precise gentrification of historic lands
Through the use of big power distributed wide
Across networks with nodes interlinking tight threads…
Perhaps thousands of kilovolts will fry our heads.
Decreased property values are taken in stride
As the needs of the greedy remain what commands.

‘Twas a power drain hour – a time to sit still
And pay damned close attention to all that was said
From those convinced they’re victims who need to be saved
Through good-luck litigation. We’re better behaved
If we deal with our issues on our own instead.
Where there’s wanting, there’s always the means to fulfill.

The Service

TheMagicRealist.com

Who avails of The Service? Look at the bell curve,
With many at the center and few at the ends.
It’s not poor ones nor rich ones, but those in-between
Who partake of the process, because they have seen
What a burden new life is. On she it depends.
There’s demand for The Service and for those who serve.

It is all about sex lives, convenience and things
Others would judge as selfish and of barren heart.
But we scorn not the many. We lecture the poor
At one end of the spectrum. All they want is more
Just as anyone finding the need to depart
From unplanned deep commitment and all that it brings.

When you think of The Service, as this much is known,
Should there be a commitment to see with more light
Toward all women in general for who they are?
The whole question of ‘choice’ is one rather bizarre.
We may think that we know what is wrong and what’s right.
Take a look at the numbers and see what is shown.

World And Local Leaders

TheMagicRealist.com

The best folks aren’t in leadership. Is this the case?
And are we derelict in our putting them there?
Our democracy means each of us is the boss.
We’re the ones who have crafted a game of dice toss
Through our indolence or simply out of despair.
If we care not to vote, all are in a bad place.

That’s not all that we all can do. We can all act
As the HR department, collectively so.
The system does have instruments that we can use
To shape government according to our own views.
If a leader thinks he should rule, then he must go.
That is Our job assignment – not fiction, but fact!

It’s a two-party system we’ve put into place.
We have mixed oil and water as much as we can.
It is futilely feudal, our democracy,
When through party alignment we must disagree.
We can choose a good leader who has a good plan.
There is much about democracy to embrace.

Both Sides Now

TheMagicRealist.com

Dems protest our social ills.
The Grand Old Party thwarts their wills.
Divisive is one who instills contention day by day.
Most leaders promise change will come…
If not to most, at least, to some.
No change will come to lowlife scum if leaders have their way.
Who looks at change from both sides now?
I surely can’t. I’m thwarted somehow.
My own illusions are quite tall.
Perhaps I don’t know change at all.

Gut wrenching stories true to life
Expressed by people who know strife…
The disenchanted man and wife… Who yields unto their plea?
Not those who sit in places high.
Most human rights they would deny
If all in favor would comply with group insanity.
Who looks at hell from both sides now?
Who stews alone with sweat on his brow?
Will mad illusions brace his fall?
Right now, he knows not hell at all.

One’s nightmare is another’s dream.
Things rarely are quite as they seem.
Our system has embraced a scheme to undermine the deeds
Of he who has become insane.
I’d hope their efforts aren’t in vain.
Some look upon them with disdain, but stronger are the needs
Of those who have seen both sides now.
Tyranny we cannot allow.
What is most urgent is our call.
I really think there’s hope for all.

Pecker Safe – Pecker Sure

TheMagicRealist.com

Pecker SafePecker Sure, who could ask for much more
As people take to pecking at what’s in the safe?
Could there be things salacious in vivid detail
About women paid off on a fairly large scale?
What becomes common knowledge will fester and chafe
What is left of a thin skin prepared to get sore.

A Shithole of a paper – disgusting content
Meant to trash all your enemies and make folks think
That outrageous contrivances with bold headlines
Can do much to convince them or trick their behinds –
Your fine friend of a pecker puts you on the brink
Of a full-fledged catastrophe you will resent.

Do be careful which pecker you put you trust in.
You pay him to dick others… or did you forget?
Maybe he saw your dick coming and took a dive.
Have you learned that most peckers will flip to survive?
I might cum in my pants were I to see you sweat.
Should you practice ‘safe’ sex? I don’t think that’s a win.

My Bitch Did It!

TheMagicRealist.com

I would think every man has his very own bitch…
One to act as a scapegoat when something goes wrong.
Let her handle the piggy bank, then give her blame
When you’re both caught red-handed. Since shame is the game,
Then perhaps behind bars is where you both belong.
Those who won’t act like leaders just want to act rich.

I will tell you my bitch did it. That’s my defense.
I’ve prepared a definitive statement to that.
We’re all pigs in fine clothing. My bitch, as you see,
Is prepared to take heat and exonerate me.
She’ll take mud fairly well. She’s an awesome doormat.
When we get behind closed doors, things might get intense.

It’s that bitch that you gave me, God. She’s not your best.
Why would you dare to curse me for telling you so?
Every pimp on the planet will eat of that tree.
Both of you were well tempted, you have to agree.
When the garden betrays you, then where will you go?
The lawmaker in you leaves me not too impressed.

Situation Room

TheMagicRealist.com

Some situation room situation arose
When too much room to situate was brought to light
Through unlawful recording when rose got the boot.
She has written a book now. It may earn some loot.
She has challenged her former boss to a cat fight.
A new day and more drama… Let’s see how it goes.

She once spoke as if she’d had a slurp of that steak
And perhaps some stiff Kool-Aid to wash it down well.
Now it’s out of her system, or that’s how it seems.
This whole episode will yield some interesting memes.
She has promised the world she has much more to tell.
This old girl is no dog. She’s much more like a snake.

So… Another quick rerun of slam-dunk-a-mole.
We all know that misdissing runs deep in his blood.
For two peas in a pod in a world of deceit,
When the rug is pulled from you, you may lose your feet.
You accept nothing dearer nor clearer than mud.
History will record you both absent of soul.

Rectocephalic Dementia

TheMagicRealist.com

When one seeks legal counsel, look for a good mouse…
One who thinks he can bullshit his way past a cat.
He must be dumb and arrogant, piggish and mean,
And the grossest historian damned to be seen.
He should be managed well with the brain of a gnat
But kept clear of the pantry within the outhouse.

We all know that a stuffed mouse can kick a cat’s ass.
That is, if he is fool enough to think that way.
In his sick mind, he throws the cat balls of catnip.
But the cat, not indulgent, does not give a rip.
The loud mouse thinks that somehow he’ll make the cat’s day.
If that happened, the ass of the mouse would be grass.

But it is anyway. How this big cat will play
Is a mystery. He keeps his plan under hat.
How does once a good leader become what is now
A most derelict specimen, pseudo highbrow,
Who hits every news circuit for bogus chit chat
About issues of magnitude in a vague way?

You’re a mouse of the law with dentures meant to gnaw
At the heart of pure logic and plain common sense.
To demean the demented is not why I write.
But, you give lousy counsel. Your defense is trite.
My two cents are now offered here at your expense
As you pretend you’re willing to dodge a cat’s paw.

…But He Can’t Tie His Shoes

TheMagicRealist.com

Use both hands to bring something up close to your face.
If you don’t, you might spill it. Don’t let people know.
Use a wink and a nod or a shifty-eyed stare
To tell all folks around you they’d better beware
If they notice that your mind has left long ago.
To step down when you’re able to is no disgrace.

Your opponent was weak because she’s not a man.
She’s as old as the dickens and has fainting spells.
You seem fit to attack her, so I don’t see why
I can’t point out your flesh flaws. Why wouldn’t I try
To make sense of your focus and draw parallels
To your senile behavior as much as I can?

You’re a failing old fart, fool. I’m not far behind.
It does take one to know one who is in decline.
Take your lamp and fade gently into the sunset.
Give the new wave some breathing room with no regret.
Take a nap now. The rest of the world will do fine.
‘Highly functioning’ seniors should learn to be kind.

The Ruling

TheMagicRealist.com

Don’t be hoein’ while flowin’. Do take a damned break!
By the way, what you do for a living is wrong.
You’re not of the right gender to make the big bucks.
We’ll equate you with life, and you know that life sucks.
You should be making babies and polishing shlong
But for only one pimp for whom you’re his namesake.

You know how to wear makeup and fuss with your hair
And learn difficult footsteps while wearing high heels.
These are privileges given you by this great land.
You have rights, and those aren’t. You’ve no right to demand
Self control of your frail bodies. Weakness appeals
To the sex drives of rugged men most self-aware.

If you challenge our ruling, you’re fooling with fire.
If you think we aren’t serious, just call our bluff.
Need we fight you or smite you with stiff penalty
For insisting to be who you decide to be?
Women are moving forward but is that enough?
It depends on how much thirst for truth they inspire.

What Happened to Home?

TheMagicRealist.com

What has happened to home where the buffalo roam
And most people behave somewhat well if they can
Find it in themselves to abide by golden rules?
We cannot be forsaken nor taken for fools.
We’re reduced to a playing field run by one man
Whose affairs are examined with a fine toothed comb.

What has happened to baseball and mom’s apple pie?
Its aroma still lingers as far as third base.
Sentiments are olfactory at the brain stem.
Like the baseball card bubble gum smell, we love them.
Do political values toward race run the race
From a derelict tower that touches the sky?

Who’s the batter at home plate prepared for the pitch
That the tower will babel with indirect force?
Can he strike in a way that we score a home run?
The last inning of this game has surely begun.
Would some hotdogs and ketchup be par for the course?
Between scoring and winning, who knows which is which?

Trump Ramen

TheMagicRealist.com

I once heard the House Speaker speak ill of Trump steak.
But since then, he has had a bite… maybe a few.
I’d assume he must like it. I’ve heard no complaints.
Neither he nor McConnell consider constraints
On this unruly inmate whose words are untrue.
Tasty Ramen behind prison bars he will make.

All the world will in unison piss out his name.
Our demonic possession will find an escape.
Is the sight of stern justice the heart of the goal?
Were it not for kind karma, I’d be such a soul.
We need not play the victim. We’re in better shape
Than the Trump tribe of gangsters who’ll go down in shame.

With his genius swamp rat skills, he’ll learn to throw down
And share rank recipes with the folk of his kind.
He may learn to do push-ups and get back in shape.
There’s no limit on time. He will find no escape.
He will have dirty, mean people fuck with his mind.
There is time enough for him to practice his frown.

Q anon, The Adult Children of Q aholics ?

TheMagicRealist.com

Well… It’s kind of a monster equipped with a cloak
That it turns on when it fears that it may be seen.
Those old bastards are tricky. They control us all.
We can’t fight them alone because we are too small.
We believe in our Trumpster because he is mean.
He will deep six the deep state and indecent folk.

Don’t ask me to explain it. It’s to plain for that.
If it needs to make sense to you, do understand
I don’t need to be sensible. That’s why I vote!
I’ll not have left winged logic be jammed down my throat.
Our loud trumpet will uncover what had been planned
By those phantom child pornographers under hat.

Barking birds are suspicious when they make no sound
As they perch proud and peaceful in government trees.
They commune with the Clintons, Obamas and Cher…
Even with future aliens who are out there.
And as long as I find someone else who agrees,
When some truth is uncovered, we will stand our ground.

The Outhouse

TheMagicRealist.com

Crescent moon on the white house next to a dim star…
It was once somewhat functional as a workplace.
It’s a place for first family to clear their bowels.
In that difficult process, they often wear scowls.
The ill-tempered, mad tenant will surely debase
Any space he inhabits both here and afar.

The big swamp that was spoken of has grown in size.
Underneath the foundation, there’s not enough room.
So, the crap has no place to go but right inside
Where it stinks to high Russia who snickers in pride.
Who would give them the go ahead to usher doom
To our way of democracy? Is the man wise?

Add a tour at the outhouse to your resume.
At some federal prison you’ll find proper work.
It’s a shithole already. You can’t make it one.
You’re about to be busted, you son of a gun!
At your next job, you will have no reason to smirk.
Crowds will cheer on the day when you are locked away.

Black for Trump

TheMagicRealist.com

I’m a Proud Black for Trump! I’ve his dick up my rump
Or perhaps a facsimile with the same name.
Anyway, I’m in heaven. I feel no disgrace
From my people of color. Why do I embrace
Such a figure whose care for me should cause me shame?
If I go against logic, am I then a chump?

I know who to be black for. It isn’t for me
But for he who is chosen to fulfill God’s plan.
I’m a wounded religious freak on a lost cause.
I don’t know who I am because I never was.
Now I’m Bozo, the Black Man and avid Trump fan.
I must stand right behind him so all blacks can see.

Vote for Trump, my black brothers and sisters in race.
He has done nothing to us nor for us just yet.
He may go to the loony bin sooner than I
And, like him, I am kind of a strange thinking guy.
Were he removed from office… That, I would regret.
That would mean I’d have only my dark soul to face.

The Probe

TheMagicRealist.com

What the Hell is that thing? Is it some lethal tool?
It looks frightfully serious. What’s it used for?
I most surely don’t need one. I’ve done nothing wrong.
I’m above common circuitry where I belong.
Keep the damned thing away from me in a locked drawer.
I will not have it touch me. I won’t be a fool.

I don’t need to be checked. There’s no issue with me.
My neon ‘No Collusion’ sign needs no repair.
It is built tough and livid by strength of my will.
I will not be examined, nor will I sit still
When losers take pot shots at me while they’re on air.
I Am Totally Innocent. You Must Agree.

When one has troubleshooting skills sharp as a blade
Then the faulty components are easy to find.
And when detailed schematics are at one’s avail,
One evaluates trouble on an immense scale.
Our most intricate systems have been misaligned.
All will return to normal. Do not be afraid.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.