Tag Archive | political commentary

Air Apparent

Desolation

What we leave to our children is what was left us.
It’s the same earth and climate, but how it evolves
On our watch, at our mercy, is ours to ensure.
Have we done a fair job, and is our conscience pure
With no semblance of guilt? Our uncaring dissolves
Any hope of a future that we can discuss.

Have I opened my eyes wide to all to be seen
In some part of a lifetime most present and sane?
How do I speak of sanity? I know it not
From a hole in the ozone we just plum forgot.
What is sane is unspeakable profit and gain
And success in the moment. I must see past green.

We have made Air Apparent in its toxic state
A dysfunctional challenge to posterity.
Have we made them the wise ones who must take control
Because we, as their leaders, are bereft of soul?
Should our own self-undoing strong-arm us to see,
Can we earn back respect, or is it much too late?

The Perfection Of Matter

Dreamscape

Have we come to make happen a most astral state
Such that by merely thinking, things then come to be?
If we don’t, as a species, last this time around,
Is the next one for granted? Are we somehow bound
To evolve once a certain way that all may see
Matter made to perfection? Could that be our fate?

I was made to move matter. I feel that to be
Paramount, part and parcel to that which I am.
To feel or see another way would be untrue
To who I in reality could offer you
And still feel that connected. I dare to exam
What most couldn’t be bothered with wholeheartedly.

Psychic is evolution. Cosmic is our source
Of particulate substance. We mirror all things
That exist in the universe. All we can fear
Is the present condition. That which we hold dear
At this time, as a species, dangle by loose strings.
We can do this all over or steer back on course.

Ride The Bull

Primal Motion

You say your stock’s been down?
That’s why you’re wearing a frown?
Your meager money market venture just took a dive?
You didn’t plan it this way.
No one will come to save the day.
It’s up to your devices alone now to truly survive.

Maybe I’ll be there to ride the bull.
Maybe I’ll be there to act like a fool.
Foolishness is a thing that we can all do together.
Maybe I’ll be there to ride the bull.
Maybe I’ll be there to act like a fool.
So, grab hold of the bull in stormy or sunny weather.

You’ve been watching all the network news.
It’s kind of gotten you to singing the blues.
The more you know, the chances are that you can’t get a clue.
The country burns in purgatory.
Who will come to set us all free?
Well, there isn’t very much right now that we can do.

Maybe people think that life is cool.
Maybe they don’t know the golden rule.
Foolishness is a thing that we can all do together.
Maybe I’ll be there to ride the bull.
Maybe I’ll be there to act like a fool.
So, grab hold of the bull in stormy or sunny weather.

Underbelly Of The Crab

Extreme Emotional Turmoil

We’re to know what we don’t want to know what we do.
This concise definition of hell is complete
And effective an antidote to anything
That defies explanation. This mantra can bring
Clarity to the chaos and make it look neat.
Though its nature is fluid, we can see right through.

Everything is connected. The stars and ideals
That we’ve made archetypal through countless eons,
And events correlated and recorded well,
All configure collective subconscious and tell
How things may come to pass and how one’s life responds
To the Clock of the cosmos. This way, the soul heals.

One may not have belief in this practice at all
Nor the least bit of interest. It works anyway!
Infinite are the probable worlds that exist.
Lines of truth intersect all. Not one world is missed.
Fate and free will are integral forces at play.
Who can know what may happen? It’s anyone’s call.

 Cancer’s are often crab-like and look like the moon.
We’re a nation of phases reflecting outward
To reveal to the world our true face at all times,
And our dark underbelly that speaks of our crimes,
To ourselves and to others. Those whose lives we’ve scarred
Will someday see some justice. I wish that were soon.

With our Mars squaring Neptune, we can play the fool,
When through bold self-deception we sustain our needs.
As Saturn squares our Sun, we pay highly for fun.
Mercury’s opposition to Pluto is one
Aspect of our group thinking that most surely leads
To world class mis-attention and much ridicule.

For The Next Scheduled Horror…

Hoplessness

The country is a Moon Child. Emotions run deep.
And when brought to the surface, our temper can flare.
We’re suspicious and moody… often insecure
Yet, tenacious and loyal with heart that is pure.
We can be sympathetic. We are known to care.
We place value on family. We often weep.

Many fit this description, and we are all prone
To be somewhat too generous. Our will to trust
In a functioning government makes us all fools.
We tend not to make trouble and play by the rules.
We’ve obeyed them forever. The next horror must
Generate some reaction. Too much we condone.

Is it that we are powerless due to disease
Of a cancerous nature? The malignant growth
Is to vastly unknowable. All sources lie.
Is it wise to take cover or give love a try?
We have done each and neither, so if we tried both
Would we take too much comfort in our expertise?

Can we stop the next butcher? They grow like the weeds
And are just as aggressive. They get their support
From we who can do nothing but take to the streets
As perhaps we are meant to. Inaction defeats
No condition of any kind. We are, in short,
At the mercy of ourselves entrapped in our deeds.

The Base

Base Place

When I first learned the word ‘base,’ I though that it meant
As Webster had defined it. I was but a child.
So, I could not have known that most words do evolve
And grow new layers of meaning for some folks to solve.
How does such a benign word become so reviled
By the bulk of the nation? Why such strong dissent?

Just what is this new meaning revived from the old
Black and white ways of going about the business
Of preparing the basement for some future war?
Does this new base support something most would abhor?
Helter-skelter a bomb shelter folds under stress
While upholding a structure who’s foreign controlled.

One may get to the base if one falls through the hole
In the floor of the living room. Yet, once down there
One can see all the clutter and filth and take heed
That we come to our senses and realize the need
To replace most our leaders with those who will care
For the base of the whole nation… heart, mind and soul.

Darkie Season

Clear and Present Emergency

Background checks do save lives. Moscow Bitch must agree.
That’s why he won’t allow them. The breeders will breed.
And we can’t let that happen. Soon this nation will
Be infested with colored folk. White folk must kill
To prevent the invasion. The way to succeed
Is by bribing the senate, and most thoroughly.

Armies need army weapons. They do the most harm
In a series of instants, so let them be sold.
If I were president, I would give them away.
My elite subcommanders would do what I say.
Is it true that a massacre can be controlled
By the use of one’s rhetoric and true alarm?

I must look at my hatred. Our teacher-in-chief,
Knowing not that he’s doing so, offers the hope
That I don’t focus on him. He is but the sore
Of a wound suffered long ago. Never before
Have I re-felt such venom because of this dope.
This remains a hard lesson. Am I due relief?

No such thing will I know of unless there’s a change
In my way of perceiving all that must take place
As a function of being in this human form.
I perceive human hatred a recurrent storm.
Those who cannot believe that we’re all of one race
Are a lesson in my life, although that sounds strange.

The Mark Of Great People?

Fountainhead

It has done us some harm to sustain the belief
That we can’t be in heaven while still on this earth.
What it does is effectively let us forget
We can do much for ourselves with minimal sweat
To achieve what is best here and true to our worth.
Heaven is stolen from us, and we are the thief.

Much of heaven in this life means plenty of rest
But not too much. The body can take what it needs.
Exercising and eating well… All can be done
To maintain the life game and to score a homerun.
We succeed not through misery because our deeds
Seen by others seem those of people who are stressed.

Consciousness is a candle. In each the flame burns
Bringing that which is unseen into better sight.
As each candle gets closer, the light grows in size.
It illuminates everything. All become wise
To the Dark Psychic Forces that lean too far white.
Those who stand with integrity ease our concerns.

Dark Matter – Dark Energy

Interplay of Dark and Other Forces

It’s the beleaguered baryon brought forth and bathed
In a soup of some essence known only to God.
Of the whole soup, only a small bit we can see.
What is most of what’s not is called Dark Energy.
How do they know it’s not then? It seems rather odd
That we’d managed the big loss quite largely unscathed.

What becomes a Dark Matter is not to be seen
And is labeled mysterious. It interacts
With no resident substance nor energy source.
It holds big things together by some unknown force.
Standard exotic particles are browns and blacks.

Can a dirty old theory be made to look clean?

Who are the vast majority? Who are the few
Grossly visible and in great need of control?
Can dark forces be sorted out to the degree
That quantum resolution can set us all free?
What we make of this Dark Matter is of the soul.
What we can’t wrap our minds around often is true.

Testimony

Paragon of Patriotism

I once did serve my country… not as a Marine
But a navy radar tech of enlisted class.
It was more than a job for me, though it was that.
It’s to those who face danger I take off my hat.
Most Marines I knew were all about kicking ass.
They’re the noblest of creatures this nation has seen.

They can get loud and boisterous when drunk in a bar.
I’d prefer not to be near them when they’re that way.
I would trust no one else, though, were I in distress.
They will leap into harm’s way with no second guess.
Truly they are united. That’s how it will stay.
All Marines are of one heart. Divided we are.

I can tell a Marine when not in uniform.
One can sense their commitment in all that they do.
Loyalty is to duty. That’s all that life means.
Any wimp that can choose to cast doubt on Marines
Is perhaps one entangled in living untrue
To oneself or the nation caught up in the storm.

Forgiveness

Prayer In Desperation

Can you forgive someone with his foot up your ass?
He must take the damned thing out first. Then you’ll get there.
Or are you quite the mystic who seems not to be
Part of this world and all that most others can see?
I will pray for my enemy that he beware
That the hell dreamt and hoped for shall not come to pass.

Can the dull, aching nausea evolve into grace
When presented the miracle of guiding light
From omnipotent beingness? Can I believe
That the enemy’s shoe is something to receive
As a most gracious lesson? That doesn’t feel right.
Perhaps God can find someone to then take my place.

“On Your Knees,” demands Putin, consumed in much hate
And profusely delighted his plan is in play.
“Pray that fate may release you from my evil grip.
You will get used to life under my rulership.”

Is this sounding too farfetched? I’ll fetch any way
That can give the soul solace as I ruminate.

Fuck A Ballot Box!

Playing It Straight

You, the hell, say that waiting… then voting again
Is the proper way forward to rid the white house
Of the white beast within it? I say with no grin,
I done tried that before, boss. My patience is thin!
Did the shit work the last time? Vomit you espouse
As I smell that come from you, I must count to ten.

We are Butt Fucked and Hog Tied. Our system is Screwed!
You sound as if you’re Goldilocks or bitch Bo Peep.
“Just say no” to the ogre, then he’ll go away?
You’re a nightmarish fairytale for present day.
What’s become of my country? My hatred is deep
Yet my fear can surpass that and keep it subdued.

I’m afraid of what’s happening. Shit Is Dead Wrong!
It don’t take no collegiate to use common sense.
There’s no damned motherfucking thing that I can do
Than keep civil while bent over nailed by the screw.
Don’t tell me not to feel this. I take great offense
To perfuming the stench and singing a nice song.

Swamp Replacement Campaign

Swamp Maintenance via Russia

“Drain The Swamp,” was the slogan, then “Put Up That Wall!”
Foreign enemies know well how our nation works.

First, they watch us for decades. The patterns they see
Then can be used against us. We are completely
At the mercy of dark forces whose evil lurks
Like a thick, stinking, heavy cloud over us all.

How the Hell does this happen? The forefathers planned
Well for this kind of crisis. It’s built into law!
Some are helping the enemy to get around
Many rules of our nation. These people are bound
To some other commitment. Therein lies the flaw
That entraps the electable weakened of stand.

We all know this happening before our eyes.
This slow-motionless train wreck is ours but to watch
Somewhat helplessly while waiting for it to pass.
I am not a black Russian. Putin, Kiss My Ass!
As our leaders get off theirs, I hope they won’t botch
Up this process. That could well lead to our demise.

Rich White Trash

Convergence of Economic Realities

There’s a need to sound racist. It gets to some truth.
Human rubbish are one race. We make oneness smell
Like a trip to the outhouse that we keep inside
Where the heart is a black hole releasing no pride.
We’ve made this world our dumpster. Within it we dwell,
Self-Importantly arrogant and quite uncouth.

On the flip side of privilege, there are the poor.
That’s the primary reason we don’t get along.
Most will never know wealth nor the pleasures thereof.
Somewhat sick as a race, then, it’s hard to show love.
So, we single out certain groups and make them wrong.
There’s a point at which reason we vow to ignore.

Yet is this too simplistic? To speak about hate
In a tame enough manner and still get things clear
Is a task not worth trying. The trash in my mind
That blows in from the outside is not of my kind.
All my hatred can do is rekindle my fear
That we’re all not the same trash. I’m here to create.

Crucify Her!

Tribal Emnity

“Crucify Her!” They cried, and did so with Great pride
And their own word for greatness and times as they were.
“Go back to where you came from,” some group said to Christ.
Since before we were ‘upright’ we’d been sacrificed
By profound racial venom and what we ‘prefer’
To what is our reality. Hate Does Divide.

No war is ever civil, and all war goes on,
Never ceasing completely. Forever we are
Reconfiguring old hatreds to make them new.
History is a clockwork. We are the cuckoo.
The teen-aged-acting harem and their superstar
Is the darkest point, I hope, before a new dawn.

…You pathetic white women! …You whores of us all!
Why condemn who your white man treats as he does you?

Grow grotesque in your fondness for ‘good old boy’ days.
Let your husbands bull fuck you, then sing in their praise.
You are not my America. You are those who,
By the numbers, are likely to see your downfall.

Sarah Bee

Blind Conviction

It’s a story – one of glory – of the bold Miss Sarah Bee
Who became the meanest bulldog that the press would ever see.

Once a simple southern lady, she became a superstar,
But the light she was reflecting left her with a psychic scar.

Those believing her deceiving are as blind as they can be
To the dog that barked behind her. They respect their Sarah Bee.

Once a darling and a starling to the big dog of the pack,
She has lost their confidence. Now, she has left not looking back.

…Quite assumin’ of a woman that her bonnet for a bee
Could protect her form the specter that most others cannot see.

There’s no reason not to go for governor of Arkansas.
Working well in such a crime scene, she knows much about the law.

Who defined your bleak one-niner? Do you have an enemy
Such that meeting with The People is something you cannot see?

Well, my darlin’, like a marlin who’s escaped back to the sea,
You are free form close encounters involving misogyny.

Highfalutin, verbal shootin’, tyrant rootin’ Sarah Bee
…Hope you’re lost and gone forever. We The People do agree.

They Do Think We’re All Stupid!

Conflagration of Troubled Leadership

The disease of entitlement has become vogue.
White men stuffed in silk jackets must each wear a noose.
Why this is so is custom and much too absurd,
So, one wouldn’t be wise taking them at their word.
Slavery is professional as is abuse.
There’s a reason our government has become rogue.

We elected Obama. That was the last straw.
Not just once, but twice, we went and did the wrong thing.
Now, one hell of a backlash from nigger ascent
Reminds all that the fruits of our nation were meant
For the few white and wealthy. What freedom will ring
Is America ‘great’ again made into law.

They said, “Screw it! The People don’t know what they want.
They make foolish decisions. It’s now up to us
To return us to sanity and the white way.
We declare infiltration has seen its last day.”
One dose of the right nigger scares whites treasonous.

So, who’s up for the running? Who’s our confidant?

When The Cock Takes The Crosswalk

Apparent Normalcy on the Farm

Need I hear the cock stutter to know I’ve betrayed,
For the third and last instance, some semblance of hope
That a new day is coming? E’er when the cock crows,
All the sycophant chickens make sure that he knows
He can count on their loyalty. How do they cope?
Either they are well paid or just too damned afraid.

And maybe it’s for both reasons. Who know for sure?
It becomes a big mystery not to be solved
By our imperfect system – not anytime soon.
Would our congress act if we all barked at the moon?
It’s a shame that our leaders are not more evolved.
If I think of it that way, what must I endure?

When The Cock Takes The Crosswalk, as soon he must do,
He will then be crossing at the intersection
Of justice and confinement, perhaps behind bars.
We will pay for his upkeep and tend to our scars.
As the traffic increases, the cock comes undone.
He Shall Not Cross The Street Twice though he will want to.

Spin Yada

To Illustrate the Innanity of Process

We’re a while past the main event, yet we still play
At a game that has no end in sight, so it seems.
He who beats with Spin Yada has not a big stick.
Sophistry becomes useless performed as a trick
To protect well the guilty one. His ‘honor’ deems
That the thug is unbudgeable and here to stay.

And within the Spin Yada the truth is contained.
The pet hog with the magic wand flails it about.
While pretending to hit it, he spins it instead.
In the process, the people are sorely mislead.
Why the hog deserves ‘honor’ and is given clout
Is a thing that the people do not need explained.

The Spin Yada had broken a long time ago.
We behold an illusion performed on a stage
With a bunch of bad actors who’ve not learned their lines.
We, the audience, notice through clear, telltale signs.
It’s a sorry performance. It cannot assuage
We The People who have seen a much better show.

The truth had been our standard. It will again soon
Be what we’ve been accustomed to in leadership.
We’ve a predator nation up our sick behind
And our dick headed system should be redesigned.
The Marine is our standard. He has a firm grip
On the truth of our nation about to be strewn.

Cocksocket Mismatch

To conflate rhetorically morality and mechanics

Someone grab that Cocksocket before it gets loose!
Lefty Lucys are legal, but only so far
As the man’s eye can stand it. Demand it, he must,
That he have full control of the whole hole. Unjust
Is the female contraption who’s not like a car.
The mechanic says there’s no such thing as abuse.

Who denies that the cock is a versatile tool?
It can brute force most stubborn things back into shape.
With the wave of the phallic wand, what was once law
Is now broke dick endangered. There must be a flaw
When every swinging dick has the license to rape.
Tools are inanimate, so how can they be cruel?

There’s a Cocksocket Mismatch. It’s not a tight fit.
There’s a sense of anxiety. Flesh is at stake,
And it’s that of one gender – the female machine.
What would happen if Spirit chose to intervene?
Of all tools in the toolbox, which one will it take
To restore what’s been settled? Why all the bullshit?

Right Leadership

TheMagicRealist.com

What can be called Right Leadership? What does it mean?
To the leader and leadee, are they both the same?
To some, it comes quite easily… Others, with pain.
One who is resolute and wise is to our gain.
Otherwise, in the world’s eyes, we wallow in shame.
We are hardly a model right now. We’re obscene.

We’ve been stuck in a deep pit for more than too long.
 To escape, what is needed is a special gear.
Enough force of momentum and focus of heart
In a leader can lead us out. All must take part
In maintaining the framework most of us hold dear.
Do we need the best leader to all get along?

Could we use some more pressure? Sufficient it’s not
For the depth we have fallen. It is a tough climb
To get back to the freedoms of democracy.
If we were ever there once, that’s were we should be.
Practical difficulties contingent to time
Hold us in a predicament within a plot.

The Storm

Evoke awareness of the current political climate

When at last will this storm pass? It’s acid-like rain
Eats away at my mood swing. A simple flatline
Has been cast into turbulence. To be seasick
Amid faint, rumbling thunder and words that are thick
Clouds that offer confusion is of whose design?
That, of course, is my choosing. I cannot complain.

Back when I was a sailor, they gave people pills
To more easily cope with the random motion
Of the steadfast and mighty home known as our ship.
Would it make a difference were I to equip
My soul with some salvation by having some fun
As the wayward commanders configure their wills?

Every ship needs a captain as well as a crew
That is shipshape and sober and plays by the rules.
Being that we don’t have one, can we stay afloat
And maintain our direction in waters remote?
Those who now are in power will go down as fools
And the storm that exists now will simply blow through.

 

A Knee To The Anthem

 

TheMagicRealist.com

When there is call to action, which one should come first?
…The one of my own business or that of my race?
…Or the one that we all need to take to be free?
Other nations behold us, and they clearly see
We’re united in many ways. Can’t those displace
What is doomed to divide us and bring out our worst?

People fought for this nation and paid the high price
Out of heartfelt commitment and sheer human grace.
Should I then disrespect them because of my beef
Having nothing to do with their survivors’ grief?
My issues I’ll attend to. It isn’t my place
To put principle above someone’s sacrifice.

We’re the melting pot model, diverse in our ways.
When they clash – often bloody – we struggle to find
Resolution, yet still we remain in one piece.
There may not come a time when the struggle will cease.
But we are of one nation. In that, we’re defined.
We’re a country that does need its consciousness raised.

I believe in the Anthem. That’s where it all starts…
With a hand on the heart and our eyes on the Dream.
We were taught this decades ago. Haven’t we learned?
We may protest in other ways. Are we concerned
With issues facing all of us? We Are One Team!
We would do best to honor the Dream in our hearts.

You Can’t PROVE I’m A Scarecrow

TheMagicRealist.com

I know nothing of farming, but I’m the best one
To behave as your farmer by bullshit alone.
Is it that what elected me is a machine
Most corrupted and broken and makes me obscene
That erodes any hope you have down to the bone?
How I commandeered this field will be told to none.

Those who say I’m a scarecrow have gathered no proof
That betrays that I am one. This clears me of shame
On the outside, but inside, there’s only hot air.
That hot air can be blameless is not only fair,
It’s the best way I know of to win at life’s game.
Mentally insufficient, I can seem aloof.

The report says they tried hard, but they couldn’t find
Enough factual evidence linking me to
All who took part in stuffing me to make me look
Like something of a candidate. But, I’m a crook.
You Can’t PROVE I’m A Scarecrow, so all you can do
Is to ignore the hay you see. Pretend you’re blind.

Smoke Enema

TheMagicRealist.com

We still have breaking news. Like the passing of gas,
It gets people’s attention. It then turns them off.
A few years chasing smoke now. So, where’s the report?
Disappointed and let down, no call to cavort
Motivates me. Indeed, any news I will scoff.
Though their motives are noble, what truth can amass?

Was I expecting clarity? Blow me some more.
It does seem now that our nation is owned by czars.
I’m caught up in conspiracy due to the smoke.
Those who can see right through it know that it’s a joke
To a certain point, then seeing may produce scars
In the psyche. Is that something I can ignore?

Yes, I Can! Not a locked-legged man at the draw,
I am not that apparent an arch enemy
Amid truth reconfigured then pumped up the ass.
I stand with knees adjusted, as ‘this too shall pass’.
It will take time for smoke to clear. Then shall we see?
We’re a nation of antics. To Hell With The Law!

We Gotta Get You A Woman!

TheMagicRealist.com


Hey there, Sam! Is that you?
We’d thought that your partner would stay ever true.
Compromised before our eyes… Entrapped within white petty lies…
Most women know that they will pull us through.
There’s only one thing that we’ve left to do.

We Gotta Get You A Woman!
It’s like nothin’ else to make you feel that you will survive.

We Gotta Get You A Woman!
We can pre-celebrate because there’s no time for waitin’.

Sammy boy, you’re the one
Who’s personified us since our fate had begun.
We can feel discontentment. We know you do too.
…Woken up from a wild night, we’re all feelin’ blue.
You done married the bitch! He done gave you the screw! So…

We Gotta Get You A Woman!
It’s like nothin’ else to give you courage to carry on.
We Gotta Get You A Woman!
Pretty soon well be votin’. Much time is worth devotin’

…To talkin’ ‘bout livin’ lives in much better ways.
Until now we’ve been caught up in malaise.
Fairly soon we will see better days.
But we’ve got to care enough that we pull this thing together

We Gotta Get You A Woman!
It’s like nothin’ else to make you feel that love is alive.

We Gotta Get You A Woman!
Leadership of a woman could well make our nation thrive.

Talkin’ ‘bout things like thick ceiling glass
That had almost been broken but for some world class
Operation that lead to the major impasse
That befalls us, a woman may well kick some ass.

We’ve got to hook you up with one who has been around.
There are plenty of good ones. Indeed, they abound.
She may show you that what has been lost can be found.
Sam, it’s time to listen to a different sound.

We Gotta Get You A Woman!
We Gotta Get You A Woman!
We Gotta Get You A Woman!

And after we do, we may live life anew.

Lefty Lucy – Righty Tighty

TheMagicRealist.com

There was once only monochrome. Called black and white,
Every spot on the CRT was off or on.
The electron beam painted, with raster sharp force,
Every other line interleaved so to endorse
Double composite imagery. What an eye con!
Left to right, as the eye scans, it knows not of sleight.

Right to left is less often the way we believe
That perception should be read or well understood.
Rightness can’t coexist on both ends of a scale.
One will rebuke the other. Conflict will prevail.
Leftness is like the darkness, in all likelihood,
That the beam cannot visit nor can it perceive.

A mnemonic appropriate to here and now
Clearly is indicated so we redefine
The depiction of color in technical grace.
Right and left are now concepts we need to replace
With ones more systematic by nature’s design
Where one needs no schematic to simply allow.

If I call you a lefty, does that mean I’m right?
And if I’m called a righty, is that from left field?
There is one kind of spectrum we need not reveal.
It’s the one that is based on the way that we feel.
If we censored our labels, would all hearts be healed?
It would seem there’s no alternative but to fight.

The Dirt On Our Clinton

TheMagicRealist.com

A heartbroken scapedonkey with dirt on her back
Stands alone and recalcitrant to public show
All because of the video game that we play.
Finding dirt on our leaders can brighten our day.
As the searching is aided, opponents will go
To extreme lengths to engage in lethal attacks.

The assaults, often vicious, leave nothing revealed
But much talk and conjecture yet nothing of truth.
All the while life keeps happening. There’s no mistake
That the drama befuddles us, and for the sake
Of induced sanctimony, we show to our youth
In the worst way that our nation needs to be healed.

Our fine system of government is a machine
Made of people by people. It has not a mind
That is single and unified. Is this the case?
I do not know the answer nor can I embrace
The collateral damage. I won’t become blind
To the dirt that becomes us. When will we come clean?

A Person Of Morals

TheMagicRealist.com

Everyone wants the best one to be at the top
Of the chain of ideals to which all good aspire.
We may think we are good, though we lose perspective
With the life that surrounds us who are effective
As a minefield morality steeped in crossfire.
We can’t all be as preachers. Somewhere it must stop.

That which invents morality is based in fear –
Something that the fine intellect could put at ease.
We would become wild animals without our laws
Which, derived from our morals and mad flapping jaws,
Form the basis for people to do as they please
Just as long as their acts are both benign and clear.

We are much like the animals. In that we may
Put them in exaltation without meaning to.
In the ways we are different, we should take note
That they don’t live by morals. That way they devote
Every bit of awareness on just what to do
To steer clear of illusion and have a good day.

I’m Rich, Therefore I Am

TheMagicRealist.com

I embrace my entitlement. It’s my birthright.
And in line with my heritage I do exist
To take charge and to conquer all that I behold.
Anyone with a dark past can be bought or sold.
I feel nothing of conscience, in fact I insist
That we all take up arms and engage in the fight.

And with wealth comes great wisdom and platform to rule.
Even with no experience I may fair well
In a post yeti showdown in stark sabotage
To the plans of all others. Wealth is a mirage
That depicts something meaningful in the hard sell.
Yet a rich yeti encore would make you the fool.

I shall know that my being, deficient of soul,
Does my best to emboss me and make all seem real.
Since I could have most anything, why don’t I chill?
Maybe I’m just a rich prick who dicks for the thrill.
There’s no doubt that my money can draw much appeal
And endorsement. This all is the heart of my goal.

Wake Me When The Witch Is Dead

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s a good life in Kansas. I’d rather stay here
Than be knocked quite unconscious and grabbed by the house
To be dropped on a brick road of red, white and blue.
I engage with the storyline and as I do
Its perverse, wicked witchery I will espouse.
The suspense, a surreal thing, is rooted in fear.

I would be called a munchkin if I left my state
Of alignment with selfhood and lightness of heart.
In the dreamworld we see technicolor as real.
There’s a hint of nostalgia in how people feel
About wizards who strive not to drive folks apart.
Does this tale have a climax? We’ll just have to wait.

But while waiting, do I care to watch the grass grow
Through the cracks in the pavement? That wouldn’t seem wise.
I know that the big city is glittered in green
And the folks who play games there can play rather mean.
To be bored with the world dream comes as no surprise.
Wake me when it’s all over. I may want to know.

Operating System Corrupted

TheMagicRealist.com

Get in touch with the enemy. Model their acts
And make sure that their vanities can be controlled.
As their ways are well studied one can gain access
To their innermost workings. Their minds are a mess!
They will sell you their secrets for trinkets, we’re told.
Easily they are driven by alternate facts.

They believe in their system. We must do the same.
Though we raise much suspicion, no one will respond
In enough time to stop us dead cold in our tracks.
As we screw them, their journalists air our attacks.
Those who matter are impotent and tend to bond
With whoever is dominant. They have no shame.

Easily they’re corruptible, gaping in awe.
In slow motion, explosiveness looks like a dream.
As it happens in real time, is real damage done?
They will speak all about the man holding the gun
As he shoots at them. Not even thinking to scream,
They’re a curious system confounded in flaw.

Whiteface

TheMagicRealist.com

Does America have a big whiteface again?
Or can we ever have one that all can call ours?
Do we seem like a friend to bewildered allies?
Has the fate of our statehood become someone’s prize?
Is it likely that we are now governed by czars?
Do we act out in whiteface like proud gentlemen?

What’s the state of creation in our nation now?
Is it one of relationship or battle cries?
We’re at war with our damned selves! No thing leads us on
Like rekindled resentment from which hope is drawn.
We’re a state in a state of most lethal white lies.
We could redeem ourselves if we only knew how.

We depend on our dough-people maybe so much
That we think they aren’t human. Therefore, the machine
Of self-government needs a full check of its gears.
But it is somewhat human. It does shed its tears.
Absolute in snow whiteness, much chaos is seen
And the heat of our drama is cold to the touch.

Put Your Bitch On The Street!

TheMagicRealist.com

Messed with government workers, here’s some good advice.
I can tell that you’re just a tad miffed, but don’t sweat.
So you’ve tried a few yard sales, and that didn’t work?
I can show you some sympathy. I’m not a jerk!
You may eat cake and suffer my unyielding threat.
I’m profoundly grotesque, and it’s hard to be nice.

Have you talked to your landlords? They should share the blame.
After all, there is plenty. You all must partake.
Everyone in this nation is under my rule.
Anyone who thinks otherwise is a damned fool.
I can’t care about you. My own ass is at stake.
Fairly soon I’ll feel justice. You should feel the same.

Put Your Bitch On The Street! Leave the kids on their own.
Her income will replace yours while I break some wind.
If she’s not in the best shape, offer a discount.
Anyone with cold cash and is willing to mount
Is an asset you cannot afford to rescind.
All this talk of a crisis is way overblown.

Good Rat, Bad Rat

TheMagicRealist.com

I’ve spent nary a day in the joint, I must say.
Does that mean I’m a Good Rat? The boss says I am
In a way that’s not obvious. That’s a good style.
If I’m not a stool pigeon, should I wear a smile?
My best talent is that I can run a good sham
While I’m glomming and keeping the coppers at bay.

Or, I could be a Bad Rat. Is that up to me?
I’m a spirit of free will. I checked and made sure
That I’ve sorted my life out from that of the beast.
I don’t relish the sense that my soul has been fleeced.
I can no longer shovel the boss’s manure.
Peace of mind and sheer freedom is all I can see.

So… a Good Rat or Bad Rat… Which one is it, boss?
We must know that your twitter rant shows some respect
For the services. Our dirty work was for you.
We may see you in bracelets and pajamas too.
How to feel is, for you, nothing you will perfect.
So, which one does not matter. Both lead to your loss.

‘Tis A Mess Before Christmas…

TheMagicRealist.com

…All through the white house, every creature is stirring
Like blind mice aboard ship looking for the gangplank.
What is wrong with the captain? Is he snorting speed?
One who’s mad and on uppers is all that we need.
The executive lifestyle goes not well with crank.
At the white house, dysfunction is not a new thing.

Side effects are as follows: perception of guilt
With extreme paranoia and slurring of speech.
Temperament may be flighty, impulsive and brash.
There’s a tendency to cast truth into the trash.
What could frighten one more than the threat to impeach?
Perhaps incarceration in structure well-built.

As you wish, it is done. You will get your damned wall.
It will be made of concrete and built just for you.
You may wear an orange jumpsuit to show ownership.
All the world is observing that you’ve lost your grip
On not only the white house but sanity too.
What was once such a big world will get rather small.

‘Tis A Mess Before Christmas, and in a short while,
We may see more behavior befitting the beast.
We receive drama gift wrapped and tied with a bow.
What goes on at the white house may be just for show.
The ones who are affected are thrilled in the least.
“Merry Christmas To All” is a healthy denial.

How’s That, Your Honor?

TheMagicRealist.com

Did I hear you correctly, your honor? I mean
That it did not occur to me that I’d be caught
In a rat trap… I mean… well, your honor, that is…
I’ve just now learned to stutter. It’s NOT a pop quiz.
I don’t know why I’m sweating. I just plum forgot
That I pissed on the country for loyalty to green.

I’ve been at it a long time. It seems you have too.
We can’t play cat and mouse here? This throws me off guard.
I’d assumed I’d get through this like walking through cake.
How dare you to take notice that I am a snake!
I’m an able fictician. It doesn’t come hard.
But you see right damned through me. My time has come due.

You are now the alarm clock. I’ve chosen to snooze
And review my perverse life and bare some more soul.
It may be an eternity of guilt and doubt.
I have plummeted from a position of clout.
Caught up in the excitement, I lost self-control.
I see now that you’re someone that I can’t amuse.

A Fist Full Of Pipe

TheMagicRealist.com

Grab a bitch by the cunt? That’s one elegant stunt.
How does one snatch a bowling ball or a six pack?
By the holes in loose thinking, then verbal escape.
If dick talk is off-camera, are we in good shape?
Every prick comes off heavy when on the attack.
Are our ways of perceiving, themselves, an affront?

History takes on color with tiny events.
Nothing from us is hidden in this day and age.
On the threshold of brain scans and truth-telling drugs
There is no better way to sort out all our thugs
Than by indecent acts in which leaders engage.
Some don’t mind the affairs of our bad presidents.

So, A Fist Full Of Pipe and a handful of jewels
Is the way to check manhood – a win at the polls.
It is much easier to grab men by their dicks
Than it is to beat women with blunt verbal sticks.
May the coming pink wave have mercy on our souls.
History may be kind and not paint us as fools.

Bearded Bin Salmon Hood

TheMagicRealist.com

Deep within the dark woodwork mom says never go.
Any place where the wolves howl while people can’t see
Through the murk of deception, one should well avoid.
You would not risk the chance of becoming destroyed
Unless big money convinces you to agree.
Anyone in their right mind would already know.

That’s unless you’re a Ken doll – an Arab’s best friend
Who will fear not a forest where wealth may be gained.
Salmon can look like grandma to blind little boys.
All one does is impress him with expense and toys.
But which one of the two has more power ordained?
And who’s better at playing the game of pretend?

There’s a Bearded Bin Salmon Hood in the dark wood.
All the world knows he’s lurking. Wolves ears are erect.
When the Ken doll is stripped down to his plastic skin
He may notice that grandma has hair on his chin.
Is it hard for a Ken doll to earn some respect?
That would be possible if he only did good.

The Inadequate Despot

TheMagicRealist.com

As a child, I did poorly in history class.
I was more into numbers and things that made sense…
Not Political Science. Those words are at odds.
We think that our behavior is that of our gods.
Had I studied the arts, wealth would now be immense.
Oddly, as it’s turned out, I’ve become a smart ass.

But at least I’m a good one… Perhaps of the best.
This should not be about me, but it’s a good start.
It’s about being graded for how one performs
As the devil – a despot demeaning all norms.
The one who’s been ‘elected’ does have a dark heart
But due to his stupidity, he fails the test.

His con game is a lame one. He won’t even try,
At this point in his losing, to act the damned part
In a convincing manner. I grade him piss poor.
And since I’m a fine smart ass, this settles my score.
One might guess that low energy plagues the old fart.
That he does even bad badly should make him cry.

Latent Onset Barking Giblet Syndrome

TheMagicRealist.com

Though I have much to bark about, I ain’t no dog.
I’m a fancy freed turkey with much on my mind…
Like preparing all cuckoo birds for a revolt.
The mere sound of my singing should give them a jolt
In their giblets, and with marching orders assigned,
They will know time as digital and analog.

Now, it’s way past Thanksgiving. I’ve made it thus far
Past the pomp and payola portrayed in the pork.
I ran fast past the red barn and never peeked in.
The attorneys I talk to say that’s not a sin.
No longer in delusion, I’m free to uncork
The champagne of immunity from the bizarre.

I’m a late barking giblet. The turkey in chief
Has grotesque table manners, I’m lucky to say.
That gives me time to wonder if I’m doing right.
To myself and my kin folk I should have stayed tight.
I have gobbled some game and have much to convey.
It beats time in the oven and brings great relief.

Smocking FIOTUS

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.