Tag Archive | schools of thought

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.

Why Am I Stressed?

TheMagicRealist.com

Do not work, and don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.
You may be under pressure but make no mistake.
I will clothe you and feed you and give you a roof.
One who’d make such a promise is made of disproof.

If my thinking is heavy and clearly opaque
Is there anything worthwhile that I can then do?

Can I sit and be blissful alone in one place
For a brief march of minutes? That should not be hard.
If it is, then it means only one sundry thing.
I have not done what is necessary to bring
Simple mindfulness back into proper regard.
If the masses can’t do that, is that a disgrace?

Like the fragrance of jasmine on life’s summer breeze
I’ve no choice but to linger until lingering
Dissipates in completion of purpose assigned.
What I’m thinking and feeling are so intertwined
That I can’t blame another for what life may bring.
On that basis, can I put my stressing at ease?

Head Or Heart

TheMagicRealist.com

Head and heart are two totally separate things.
What is seen on the surface also is within.
We alone complicate things. The creatures of wild
See all life as one simple thing – much like a child,
But with intent well focused. I’ll dare to begin
A statement of inquiry as if it has wings.

Can the heart speak of anything? I would think not.
It just wants to keep blood flowing. That is its job.
It need not be articulate – only steadfast
That its date with my breathing will not be its last.
Now, there are quite a few things that make the heart throb.
People could say it’s speaking then. I’d say they ought.

The heart has only two sounds: Dub-Lub and Dub-Lub.
Only on rare occasion does it verbalize

In an aberrant manner. But, unlike the brain,
Nothing can happen to it to drive it insane.
If I came to believe that the heart can be wise
Would that mean I’d be giving my poor brain the snub?

Meditation is not interrupted by thought.
I would not ask the kidneys nor liver to cease
Their sustaining their function as peace do I seek.
It’s refreshing to learn that all organs do speak
In the language they’re used to. The mindful release
Of the unwanted chatter is then what is sought.

Wisdom, Meditation And Bliss

TheMagicRealist.com

Mysticism means exploration into things
That I have not the knowledge of – so far, so good.
Everything that I know not, I can’t understand.
If I find one with wisdom and peacefulness grand,
Is that person anointed with true guruhood?
Is what I know that others don’t worthy of wings?

If I lost all my assets and felt quite depressed
My mind would try to trick me into true demise.
But if I held my breath for two minutes, I’m sure
That abundantly free air would act as the cure
For my habit of teetering on compromise
Of my spirit. Sometimes, it’s adversely expressed.

 The most sophisticated machinery here,
The unique human body is of pure design.
Yet it can be encumbered with high maintenance.
That appears true for most folks and seems to make sense.
Living totally means that there is no deadline
When it comes to engaging all that we hold dear.

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.

Compassion And Virtue

TheMagicRealist.com

When I do not identify with anything,
Then in absolute virtue my living will be.
I am filled with compassion for all that exists…
Even those who, in blindness, are flailing their fists.
Only when not identifying can I see
What I may have to offer. What peace may I bring?

People are sympathetic to some noble cause.
But in being so biased, compassion declines
For all else not identified with what we love.
Therein lies some resentment. Can we get rid of
Unbecoming behavior? The heart undermines
The intent to think clearly from adequate pause.

When compassion encompasses every last one
On this planet or wherever consciousness plays
Throughout space-time and being, will we have done well?
Within every infinity chaos must dwell.
So, it does well behoove us to measure our days
As if all of creation had never begun.

Gratitude Is Not Attitude

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s an intricate fabric of which I’m a thread.
There is always a place where I’m part of the fold.
Neither feelings of loneliness nor perceived guilt
Can convene to antagonize what has been built
Over eons. My true heart cannot be controlled
By illusions of misfortune that lie ahead.

As life happens around me, the thing I see most
Is how much is involved in the moment at hand.
Every bite that I take… many did make it so
Through the chain of production, as most people know.
What goes into each moment, then, is rather grand.
I can take time to be and be fully engrossed.

Gratitude is not attitude. It’s a wellspring
That flows freely from feelings of utter content.
To call such thing an attitude doesn’t say much.
It implies I’m aggressively cold to the touch.
Gratitude is a break from my will to resent.
It’s a pleasure to be a part of everything.

Decisions

TheMagicRealist.com

Much of life is of choices made throughout the day.
I can meet every moment in torment or joy.
I can help this behavior through clarity keen.
No one else can act for me nor stand in-between
Me and what I’ve decided. My will I employ
To live life as I choose to. Is this not our way?

My emotions go up and down. Talk in my mind
Is quite often chaotic. It makes not much sense.
It says nothing of import. It changes its tune
Pitching one thing at breakfast… its counter by noon.
Clarity in the moment is one’s sole defense
Because therein, one’s choices cannot be maligned.

Difficult are decisions made under some stress.
I’ll become then compulsive with clarity gone.
As I make them in happiness, clearly I see.
If I fuss much about them, confused I will be.
Yet there is inner guidance I rely upon
If I can but remember when under duress.

A Peaceful Mind

TheMagicRealist.com

As we grow to be human, our lives get complex.
Other creatures with stomachs full just lie around.
But when humans are satisfied, really, we’re not.
We will seek out new problems and give them a shot.
What is sought after diligently is then found.
One’s illusions are built upon what one expects.

Life ends not with survival for we human kind.
It begins with it, and that is not a good thing.
We’re not meant to be busy. We’re meant to chill out.
Most our illnesses come from our stressing, no doubt.
If we did much less of it, would happy hearts sing?
Everything is at peace to one who is aligned.

Yet, A Peaceful Mind is not the highest of goals
As it is fundamental to all that we do.
If done so in enjoyment, all acts must be done
In the state of A Peaceful Mind. Can life be fun?
Surely turmoil is lessened with a clearer view
Of a much grander clockwork engaging our souls.

Bad Hair Day

TheMagicRealist.com

One might ask a Zen master if he has bad days.
After all, it’s a good question. Most of us do.
He would probably answer, “That wouldn’t be wise.
I’m alive and at peace below clear sunny skies.
If I labeled my days good or bad as do you
Any worm of a thought might engender malaise.”

Processes that define us, too many to name,
Are of yet a few categories to be known.
Existential are most, and we pay them no mind.
But the ones psychological are of a kind
That when focused on too long, the mind can be blown.
Most of us with no training can play an ill game.

The Creator’s creation must impact the soul…
Not the one that I made and placed inside of me.
Concentrate on the grandeur? Can such a thing work?
I’ve no choice but to try or go waxing berserk.
I’m some clinical label if I want to be.
But I don’t. Peace in tranquility is my goal.

God And The Scientists

TheMagicRealist.com

It so happened in the twenty fourth century
That a small group of scientists went to see God.
When they got there, they greeted him, “Hi there, old man.
We have something to say. Please do hear if you can.
You’ve done great with creation. For that we applaud.
But you can now retire because we are as thee.”

God replied, “Is that so? Tell me, what can you do
That I have done already in my divine way?”
“We can create a human! Just watch if you will.
We have evolved a billion-fold… so has our skill.”

They then zing-zapped some soil and without much delay
A new human the dirt became, with feelings too.

“That is somewhat impressive, if I may be kind,”
The prefect of divinity said in response.

“You have made a fine human from soil that I made.
Can you make one from scratch and without the charade?
It would seem you’ve not mastered the subtle nuance
Of existing. Until then, your wills are confined.”

Beyond Ego

TheMagicRealist.com

It is known that the ego does things the hard way.
It has not much concern for the way that it acts.
It is good at one-upmanship. That is its goal.
It can’t know what it’s doing. It has not a soul.
It may be quite adept, though, at verbal attacks.
And when it can put others down, that makes its day.

It’s a very sad way to live. I know for sure.
Satisfaction is bittersweet in effort strong.
It is like an addiction to struggle… For what?
…Some grand sliver of spotlight? But what of my gut?
It will get me believing that I can’t do wrong.
It’s a symptom, perhaps, that I am insecure.

I should maintain some distance between it and me.
After all, it is not me nor can life revolve
Around it. Clearly, it is a survival tool.
If I learn how to use it, I’ll not be the fool.
So the ego can be my own puzzle to solve.
Maybe life can be blissful most naturally.

Papa Bird Has Plenty Butt

TheMagicRealist.com

Papa Bird has enough ass to keep the chicks warm.
It ain’t like he’s a featherweight at nurturing
His young children while his mate is out getting food.
They will trade off their duties in brief interlude.
Papa Bird believes equal rights is the right thing.
He is not truly conscious of breaking a norm.

Papa Bird works his butt off. The lady does too.
…So much must be completed in so little time.
But to labor is pleasure. Fulfillment is keen
When in each given moment, pure splendor is seen
As the best movement forward in spirit sublime.
We can know that the Papa Bird knows what to do.

He’s no half-hearted father who clings to manhood
As if it were a big bird that could fly away.
That which takes to the air does come back to the nest.
As all bids of a feather, we do but our best
To provide for our families, while every day,
Acting out in the ways that we feel that we should.

Do I Need Confidence?

TheMagicRealist.com

When presented with some kind of chasm to cross
Where on one side is me and the other is life,
There is something that I need. It’s not confidence
Nor an imagination in lieu of suspense.
Simple fear of the unknown and possible strife
Can direct my believing in personal loss.

What I need is some clarity – not some belief
That if I should act foolishly, my intellect
Has the right to chastise me for my stupid act.
It will do so relentlessly and without tact.
Even though I’m not perfect, should I get respect?
Yes, I should, because time that we have here is brief.

Every year is a new one until it is passed.
My most favored illusions I clearly can see.
Every cycle completes itself with a new start.
All the knowledge I’ve gained is to reset the heart.
The mind wants to remember how good life can be.
It is good to let go of the year become last.

I would love to see clearly what life has in store
For the one who perceives it and says that, “I am.”
That I clearly can do so by matter of choice,
I can feel light and bubbly. Should I then rejoice?
Any confidence I have is not worth a damn.
All I am is delighted that I can be more.

Don’t Cut A Deal With God

TheMagicRealist.com

The last spirit who tried to do business with God
Of a deceptive nature did find himself caught
In a web of entitlement to the top role.
It’s believed that through hatred he aims for his goal
Of complete dissolution of all loving thought.
His personification can’t seem all too odd.

We are of God yet other. How does this work out
If we’re all spirit family with him as dad?
We know parent and child are two separate things
But in spirit we all wear the same angel wings.
Only his are much brighter. He’s supremely clad.
So if I tried to scam him, I’d lose without doubt.

There’s a thing called devotion. It is not a deal
That I make with divinity for things I want.
He knows better what I need and when it should come.
I believe since he made me, I have freedom from
Pondering if my purpose is something to flaunt.
I trust that I’m receiving all that which is real.

Paranormalcy And The Pranks Of Spirit

TheMagicRealist.com

Something funny I heard from a psychic today.
The old Bush who just passed away is doing fine.
He has caught up with Barbara. She’s playing pranks
Sending her dogs to mess with Trump. I give her thanks.
We all know he dislikes them. Perhaps it’s a sign
That his own canine nature does give him away.

Those who’ve gone are still with us. We just can’t perceive
Them in their world except when they make themselves known.
They’ll mess with electronics. They’ll enter our dreams
In such ways that our knowing is not as it seems.
Sometimes children can hear grandma on the iPhone.
Those departed are heartfelt as they watch us grieve.

And they do love to fuck with folk. I know I would.
There are things that I dream of that I can’t act out.
That’s because I am human and could go to jail.
But when I am in spirit, payback will prevail.
I’ll get some satisfaction yet remain devout
To my spiritual purpose which is to feel good.

God’s Writing Tool

TheMagicRealist.com

Yeah, I wrote that! I know that it must be Divine
So then maybe God wrote it expressly through me.
Are we one and the same? I’m not one to blaspheme
But it does seem when I’m writing, I’m in a dream
About swimming unfettered and most gracefully
In a sea of verboseness that I can call mine.

It could be I’m a channeler of the Great Force
Who directs all behavior throughout space and time.
I may be somewhat psychic in that sort of way.
Well at home in God’s toolbox, I’ve good words to say.
So, my job is to translate and make the words rhyme.
God makes use of my job skill. I’m thankful, of course.

Between waking and sleeping, as my day unfolds
I’m compelled by the spirit to take down some notes.
I’m supplied with the substance. I mess with its look.
I could get all excited and go write a book.
That may lead to disgust from ass kissing for votes.
Sometimes acts unbecoming is what life beholds.

Youth And Truth

TheMagicRealist.com

Self-identified as a great movement, youth are
Both productive an effective in search of truth.
Within any society, youth are the voice
Of what needs reassessment if we live by choice.
Our grotesque ways have died along with the phone booth
And their sense of discernment is better by far.

Many schools have become now concentration camps.
Sometimes drug-forced to concentrate, kids are products
Of a vast corporation. The product compete
Because they’re made to do so or own their defeat.
Sometimes under much pressure, a child self-destructs.
When they’re made to feel ruthless, some then fell like champs.

We are sick in the coal mind. Canaries youth are
But with strong wings and freedom to take to the air
And the streets of all nations. This world becomes theirs.
As old patterns disintegrate, our world repairs
Itself rightfully. As we become more aware
Of the wisdom of youth, all is brought up to par.

Your Drink And Two Dances

TheMagicRealist.com

There are three letters: Whiskey, Tango and Foxtrot.
Now, this kind of an alphabet, born of the need
For most absolute certainty when spelling words,
Is the language of leisure for most service nerds.
It is like machine language though human indeed.
Those who learn how to speak it can say quite a lot.

If I utter a double u, ‘trouble’ you hear
Even though you don’t mean to, and neither do I.
You may hear incorrectly the letter I speak.
This is not a put down. This does not make you weak.
That’s why letters have motley names. People could die
If they misunderstood things because they aren’t near.

So, a Drink and Two Dances means I have no clue
What you just said or why the hell you must behave
Like an uncloaked enigma escaped from a dream
Of an alien nature. Please don’t make me scream.
Since I do have to deal with you, I must be brave.
I may not get an answer… at least, not from you.

Holy Jesus!

TheMagicRealist.com

Holy Jesus! What kind of a world might exist
If all people were Christ-like in all their affairs?
We all know he was human. Some say he is God.
At least, all can agree he was not a façade.
He did make a big footprint. The Christian who cares
Is the one who, when absent, is terribly missed.

If he’s God become human, who’s not to believe
That the two can be one and dwell here among us?
People have to be careful of things that they say
Because human belief systems cling to dismay.
There is more time to be than less will to discuss
Anything that is likely to hurt or deceive.

That a man can be holy does boggle the mind.
Human nature, as we know, is not always good.
So, we need a good model. He works out quite well.
If we acted more like him, in peace we would dwell.
Even though human nature is not understood,
We’ve discovered that it does feel good to be kind.

I look up to this young man who lived long ago
Or at least to the legend and spirit thereof.
Just as much as I know that men walked on the moon
I believe to Christ Consciousness I can attune.
Everything about Christmas should be about love.
Holy Jesus! It’s time for good tidings to flow.

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.

Art Of The Swing

TheMagicRealist.com

Is it time for a third wheel to add to the cart…
Or a fourth or a fifth? They should make it run wild
In the fast lane. When living becomes quite a bore
With the ones we’re contracted with, we demand more.
We are carefree and wealthy. Our status is styled
In the way of the Greek gods. We treasure our art.

And, the Art Of The Swing is for us a plaything
That we act out in secrecy not due to guilt
But because it feels sinister in a nice way.
So, like most adult children who snicker at play,
We avail of the bloom far ahead of the wilt.
We are bees of the blossom with no will to sting.

Get to know an odd couple and some of their friends
While you have time to do so. No orgy will wait
For the soul who is timid. So, go for the fling
Even though mass delusion it often will bring.
There is no greater force than the will to create.
Sometime after creation will come the soul cleanse.

Holy Last Thursday

TheMagicRealist.com

Yesterday was a good day… the day I was born
And it must have been Thursday, the birth of all things.
I have faith in religion. This one is a gem.
If the bright guiding star shown over Bethlehem
Happened only Last Thursday, such sentiment rings
Of a deep discontentment and relative scorn.

It must be a religion. It has not enough
Of a basis to warrant sufficient belief.
It cannot be refuted. It therefore is true.
I’m not even a week old, so I can’t be blue.
But those who are left-handed will suffer some grief.
Any home-grown absurdity is hard to bluff.

So, a lot happens Thursdays. The Big Bang takes place
In spectacular fashion within all our minds.
But all minds are but my mind projected by me
For the purpose of being who all I can be.
A well-crafted illusion effectively binds
One’s outlook in a clockwork devoid of grace.

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.

Indigent Spirit

TheMagicRealist.com

I can’t handle my finances. Is this my sin?
Is my genetic makeup at one with my fate?
I could give you advise on your portfolio.
Can you spare but a dollar? My spirit is low
Because my soul is in a deplorable state.
It’s a long story. I don’t know where to begin.

Do you use the word ‘needy?’ I know what it means.
There are many things folks use to denigrate me.
One who sits on the street where most people will spit
Is a burden too ugly and grossly unfit
To be part of a progressive society
Where all are well-adjusted producing machines.

Every cell has its half-life. My spirit is whole
And meets every cell half way on most of my days.
Until they have gone silent, I’ll do but my best
To accept what is helpful and ignore the rest.
Judgement will be upon me for my errant ways
As it will be upon you for what you extol.

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.

Beyond The Yellow Vest Road

 

TheMagicRealist.com

No time to take no action… Our voices must be heard.
We defy your elitist, ignoble dictates. We stand true to our word.
You’ll identify us wearing yellow. That does not mean we’re scared.
It means we have pent up enough emotion, and now we are fully prepared.

[Ahhhhhhh…]  [Ahhhhhhh…]  [Ahhhhhhh…]

So, Hello, Yellow Vest Road, where our rabid contempt can be showed.
You can’t keep our hearts in confinement. You must let our anger explode.
What’s been owed to the people you long have forebode.
So, we’re now operating in militant mode. And we recognize our future lies
Beyond The Yellow Vest Road.

[Ahhhhhhh…]  [Ahhhhhhh…]

Why don’t you tax the wealthy? Why freeze the poor one’s wage?
Can we have much faith in our meager pensions when we have reached our old age?
What we ask isn’t much, but it’s plenty… enough to take to heart.
Our alternatives favor all possible outcomes. Perhaps they can yield a new start.

[Ahhhhhhh…]  [Ahhhhhhh…]  [Ahhhhhhh…]

So, Hello, Yellow Vest Road, where momentum is not to be slowed.
I can’t just sit still and keep silent. I must gather troops and unload.
United somewhat in a bleak episode, until our intentions are made to erode,
We recognize our future lies
Beyond The Yellow Vest Road.

[Ahhhhhhh…]  [Ahhhhhhh…]  [Ahhhhhhh…]

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.

A God We Can Trust

TheMagicRealist.com

Any God who is spirit can only give grace.
This oblique observation is shared just because
All should know that on most days God gives us no guff.
If we ask him politely, he’ll give us enough
So that we’ll keep on asking. If we keep his laws
To the letter, we may feel his loving embrace.

God is made in our image. He hates who we do.
His love may be conditional if we say so.
What he loves is to give out hard cash by the hand.
Those who don’t agree with him are in lala land.
Money ain’t all that evil. It makes the hair grow
And is made for the many as well as the few.

We’ve a God We Can Trust in who knows the mundane.
Even though he is spirit, all stuff he has made.
There’s no help wanted for a good God We Can Trust.
Although spirit is he, we’ll just have to adjust.
Our descent into flesh is a spirit crusade
So our trust in the dollar cannot be insane.

The Mercurial Tyrant

TheMagicRealist.com

The mercurial mind can quite often be blind
To the forest while swinging too much from the trees
Like a monkey gone apeshit – a fine horse’s ass –
As the leaves he keeps eating result in brain gas.
And with volatile temperament comes heart disease.
Submerged well in the nitwork, one will be confined.

He’ll do well in the background. That’s where he works best.
Amid chaos and detail he gets the job done.
But the moment you give the jackbastard some clout
He will tell you you’re useless and then cuss you out.
Leave him in his position. We’ll all have more fun.
When unheard of, his actions are not a conquest.

The mercurial menace will mess the mind mad
With his mindfulness measured in thought minuscule.
When the mind is a magnet for much resentment,
There is cause for concern, but in any event,
If he steps out of line, you will see he’s a fool.
Then you’ll mess with his mind and become a comrade.

Your Source Is Never Up Your Ass

TheMagicRealist.com

Your Source cannot nor will not behave like your boss.
If you need time to levitate, Source will agree.
With you shoes off and postured in true lotus style,
You’ll tune in to your third eye and chill for a while.
Perhaps none in the office will not even see
As they’re so busy working at masking work loss.

Your Source does have its place, and that may be at home
But at home is the infinite cosmos wherein
Alignment with God Consciousness is the main goal.
Let your work take a break as you refresh your soul.
To ignore divine calling is to commit sin.
You would not get much work done in such a syndrome.

Your Source can’t be the bastard who breathes down your neck
And demands to see much more hard work out of you.
Your Source has not a fetish for your body parts
Unlike difficult people with fear in their hearts.
Put some ass in your mantra and add the boss too.
Your value will increase as well as your pay check.

Belongingness Longing

TheMagicRealist.com

My Belongingness Longing is called loneliness.
To belong to someone or something that I love
Is to be in fulfillment of much of life’s dream.
Yet, I’m already part of the total life stream
That has taken its residence, like hand in glove,
Into physical matter. To Be Is Success!

I belong to myself. Does it long much for me?
No more than any other does it give a rip
Because it longs for sustenance, just as all flesh.
Its consumption of substance it does to refresh
Its flesh package. At times life can be a strange trip.
I’ve belonged for a while. No one needs to agree.

Longingness is of feelings… affairs of the heart
And of things that no matter can well understand.
Matter needs not the spirit to justify pain.
It endures well within it for ultimate gain.
I’ll recover as I take my heart by the hand
And we both will discover a loving new start.

Pay Your Bills Before Leaving

TheMagicRealist.com

Every moment I spend here forms free falling sand
Through the eye of the hourglass that I know as time.
Neither debit or credit can know its true name
Nor its call to fulfillment as part of the game.
Mindfulness about finance worth all of a dime
Makes for life convoluted and surely ill-planned.

If you say I must pay it, relay it to me
In a manner appropriate to who I am.
I appear to be human. I’ll take it as fact.
Can my figures befall me and counter transact
To the point where the earth sees my life as a sham?
If I ask such a question, am I meant to be?

Don’t remind me I’m ‘outta here.’ Save your junk mail
With your bleak advertisements. I’ll take my demise
Not in monthly installments, but in moments new
With no thought of my net worth and how much is due.
When my time here expires, will you cease your tries?
With a new change of address, will daftness prevail?

Observing The Chatter

TheMagicRealist.com

Background noise from the Big Bang can sometimes be heard,
Like a light, high-pitched sizzle recessed in the mind.
The sub audible clutter adrift in the brain
Can remain unattended, but there is some gain
In Observing The Chatter because it’s designed
By our guardians to offer what is preferred.

Pure sound gives us some focus when we meditate
To the lull of a waterfall or singing birds.
It engulfs all the cosmos in one single tone
And is translated rightfully to each his own.
When I notice that chatter has turned into words,
Are they those of my spirit? Should I concentrate?

Sometimes it’s my own chatter that gets in the way
Of receiving what should come directly from God.
I can tell somewhat easily which voice is mine
And which one is all knowing, more loving and kind.
Do I strum to his image as he gives a nod?
If I’m sure it’s his chatter, then it’s a good day.

Red Christmas

TheMagicRealist.com

Who’s dreaming of a Red Christmas?
Well, that relies on what we mean.
With a red shift waning, there’s no complaining,
Not even from the trees of green.

Those dreaming of a Red Christmas
May see life through a different lens.
As the noble prism induces schism,
White light is on what it depends.

I’m bracing for a Red Christmas
Despite its spectroscopic hue.
As the year approaching comes new
Some may feel that Christmases are blue.

Spirit Matter

TheMagicRealist.com

From somewhere deep in spirit to this place we come.
A magnificent replica of the real thing,
This earth plane does poor justice to living life there.
What’s reflected from spirit is beyond compare.
Yet, upon this dirt schoolhouse we solemnly cling
Until we are released back to where we came from.

There’s no cleaning in spirit… not rubbish to tend.
No dust ever collects because none can exist
In its corners. No mourners do cry do to that.
One can eat like a pig and will never get fat.
All the heartache that goes on here will not be missed.
Everyone we encounter will be our best friend.

This is not just a fluke, here – this flesh and bone stuff.
It exists in ideal form that cannot be form
In the ways we perceive the projection it makes
Upon our feeble senses. But make no mistakes,
What we gain from our time romancing the dust storm
Is a spirit well-seasoned who has had enough.

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.

Karma Is My Only Risk

TheMagicRealist.com

Take a dip into earth life. Things may turn out well,
Or adjustment to living may feel to be hard.
There are things to be learned about getting along
With other skinny dippers. The spirit is strong
In that it holds experience in high regard.
But, there’s always the chance one could make of life hell.

We are building our homes in the afterlife now,
Here on earth with the acts we commit everyday.
And the things we care most about, shallow or deep,
Will surround us in spirit. It is best to keep
One’s fixations aligned in a most righteous way.
I may want to be good, but I may not know how.

Our most brief interactions, and those over years,
With the ones we encounter in this karmic sea,
Weave an intricate fabric. It covers our deeds
In appropriate costume. Our karma proceeds
From the moment of contact with new life to be.
I can’t help but make karma. This heightens my fears.

That is why that forgiveness is such a godsend.
Like sliced bread, it’s the mother necessity craved.
Though somewhat inconceivable to the ill heart,
It’s a wise thing to count on, with me at the start.
There’s the chance that my life can be spirit depraved,
But there is always guidance on which to depend.

Why A Duck?

TheMagicRealist.com

Why A Duck when it’s not often made very clear,
Whether in the context of a humorous plot
Or clearly isolated in pure consciousness?
Every duck has to bathe itself when it’s a mess.
When a duck is not quacking, it’s lacking a lot.
Cleanliness is a virtue that most ducks hold dear.

Why A Duck, still, instead of some other life form?
That which bridges the banks has a similar sound.
And most ducks keep their sex lives a private affair.
Some would not want to fuck one. Others wouldn’t care.
A clean duck who is celibate can be profound.
Why A Duck has thick feathers is to keep it warm.

It’s unknown why a duck is the topic today.
Could it be that my word fuel is reaching its end?
Not a chance that could happen. I am born to write.
So, I’ll find things to play with that bring me delight.
Why a Duck, then, is simply a joy to expend
Some nervous verbal energy in my own way.

How’s Your White Count?

TheMagicRealist.com

I am black, so my white count should be awfully low.
Now, that would make some sense in a black in white world.
But the world is both black and white and red and blue
And some odd unseen colors. These are but a few.
There’s advantage to living with hair tightly curled
When follicular freedom is not apropos.

I’m concerned with my white count. My reds are ok.
They have no will to sickle nor stand for my race.
White ones keep law and order, while reds give and take
In their visits to other ones. There’s a handshake
That supports our survival in this temporal space.
White ones deal with infection. It must be their way.

Invasion and infection are similar terms.
Both are born out of fear perceived to be outside
One’s ordained sense of selfhood, for better or worse.
Yet, sometimes it’s a good thing; sometimes it’s a curse.
Our most cellular judgments cannot be denied.
They will always reflect what the true heart confirms.

The Quantum Mechanic

TheMagicRealist.com

There are many professions. They all are worthwhile.
From the cleaning of streets to the making of laws,
Every being alive who does some kind of work
Is a Quantum Mechanic whose pride is a perk.
Smashing thoughtforms together creates the first cause.
No one else in the universe fits the profile.

To the fine Magic Realist, the quanta form words.
When collided, verboseness brakes down into parts.
The particulate pieces, syllabic in form,
Break down further to letters. An ample brain storm
Monitored lovingly and shared with other hearts
Is the will of expression and all that it girds.

Everyone has this job title. No one’s exempt.
We may do something also so that we may live.
But we’re all hooked on particles strung end to end
And read left to right leisurely. They’re a godsend
To unsung thought colliders least provocative
In revealing new meaning or unseen contempt.

Time To Change The Dark Matter

TheMagicRealist.com

There’s a ton of dark matter. It does not have weight.
How do lay folk speak sense of this fluid-assed place?
Hardworking astrophysicists delve evermore
Into mysteries. We are destined to explore
Every aspect of being so we may embrace
A keener self-awareness for how we create.

We did fear any darkness in our early dawn,
And the same for the wild flame, although it gave light.
Have we harnessed the flame as we have the wild horse?
It may matter if we are a weak or strong force.
That dark matter tames light matter seems rather trite.
This notion of expansion does cause me to yawn.

Adrift in an aquarium made up of stuff
That is made up of weirder stuff… It’s a steep hole.
There’s a whole lot more dark stuff. The light stuff should then
Find a way to negotiate and somehow blend.
If such forced integration is rough on the soul,
Then detach from the matter. You have had enough.

After The Gold Rush

TheMagicRealist.com

Step Away from The Gold Rush! Please do so with haste.
It cannot overtake us. It can’t move that fast.
But it does. It’s the rush of a blanket of fire.
Though it glitters like gold, it is no one’s desire,
And the smoke left behind leaves the sky overcast.
That which was once a paradise is laid to waste.

Mother Nature compelled us once to this rich land
Complementing the ocean in elegant beach
And magnificent mountains. Like locusts we flew
And took on a big gamble, for all that we knew.
The rush then became statehood with magnetic reach
Across distance to peoples of skin somewhat tanned.

The rush of xenophobia filtered into
The fine fabric of governance to deal with crime
While the rush of gold nuggets came to but a few.
Laws that targeted immigrants was something new.
Things have increased in heat with the passage of time.
We depend on our leaders to know what to do.

Perhaps After The Gold Rush, as ashes are laid
And we have time to process events taking place,
We may notice that climate change has much to do
With how much we ignore what quite clearly is true.
The return of The Gold Rush puts us in a race
For our very survival, yet we’re not afraid.

I Started Some Shit

TheMagicRealist.com

…I started some shit which started the whole word eating.
But I did not see that the shit was on me.
So I started to eat which started the whole world puking.
Oh, if I’d only seen that the shit was on me.

I learned how to puke, like a damned kook, and got rebuke,
So I messed with their minds and their behinds with things of all kinds
Till I finally shit which started the whole world eating.
Oh if I’d only seen that the shit was on me…

It’s A Life

TheMagicRealist.com

Some who don’t live a fine life may just want to quit
All because our comparisons to other folk
Are blown out of perspective. No life can compare
With another life. This only leads to despair.
The solution to pain is not going for broke
On the hope freedom comes from the act I commit.

A black hole with a force field becomes of my chest
As I strum the vibration of all that goes wrong
In my waking life. There is a way I can see
That if I would stop strumming, clearer I would be
At discerning the ways in which all do belong
To a purpose much larger wherein all are blessed.

It’s A Life – nothing special – a small grain of sand
On a beach of such vastness. I am not alone
Nor do I need forget that all grains are the same.
I respond to life’s tides and have no one to blame
If I feel disconnected and left on my own.
I am fortunate in having learned this first hand.

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?

Erythro-Cyanotic Convulsive Therapy

TheMagicRealist.com

What we show to our children, they’re poised to reject
On the basis that they do not want their minds blown.
We’ve a binary system of government still
That reflects not all backgrounds nor popular will.
Current live through the nation is to the world known.
It erupts into madness. What can we expect?

We are AC’s and DC’s, the reds and the blues.
Our reps pair off like chromosomes as they perform
Their tough work notwithstanding the issues involved
That lay gathering dust and are not to be solved.
To relax in convulsion has become the norm.
In the ways we are jolted, we may change our views.

We should maintain the circuitry. Current through us
Can be managed and measured as cycles repeat.
When we’re shocked to our senses, will there be a pause
In our faulty behavior? Will we change our laws?
Our components, conventional, are then discrete.
Things can be quite as simple as minus and plus.

No Warm Flesh Allowed

TheMagicRealist.com

There’s no warm flesh allowed here unless it’s our own.
Pass the hate and the threat sauce, then let us give thanks.
Christmas means that Thanksgiving was one month before.
Somewhere in there, Black Friday we cannot ignore.
Those who dare to be thankful are those who run banks.
The palette of protection is way overblown.

Those who don’t have an appetite eat to their fill
Of apparent abundance by virtue and fate.
Those who do want a warm meal are welcomed in homes
That are not so beleaguered by fearful syndromes.
Are our best and worst attributes truly innate?
We need not be so thankful that pain is a thrill.

Flesh must be served with metal. Our troops must be there
At the border to wait for what seems but a few.
I know you can be thankful, though not with your own.
We are all right there with you. I hope this is shown
In a way that brings warmth and compassion to you.
God bless all the world’s people. Is this a good prayer?

Geo-Revalescence

TheMagicRealist.com

Mother Earth goes through changes… we humans as well.
She plays chess on her surface, and we are her pawns
As well as other pieces, like knights, rooks and kings.
As she wins, we recover and take care of things.
It would be without purpose to weigh pros and cons.
We are at the earth’s mercy and under her spell.

So, whatever we give to her, she will give back
In a way most appropriate. We can assist
Her in making things better through technology
And through globalized vision in democracy.
By the same token, we can do much to resist
Providential engagement and focus on lack.

Earth and life are both miracles. We are offspring
Of the strong worldly signal between the earth’s poles.
We can vibrate well with her or knock ourselves out
Of alignment with nature and live in much doubt
That this place is a paradise meant for our souls.
Earth will do well despite us as we do our thing.