Tag Archive | social commentary

Symptoms of Karmic Reflux

TheMagicRealist.com

I have mistreated women. I tell you no lie.
If I did you would tell the world decades from now –
Never there and then and spoken right to my face
Always hence many moons to brew ample disgrace.
I detest my foul actions. Should I take a bow?
It is time for this world to behold a man cry.

What to make of my actions? Am I of bad blood?
At the time I performed them, I knew they were wrong.
Yet, I just couldn’t stop myself. Who is to blame?
I can point to no other, as men are the same.
We can take what we want thinking that we are strong.
We are human and male with minds thicker than mud.

What can aid indigestion of unwanted deeds
Within those who committed them and their oppressed?
Some may say, “Just say no; nip that thing in the bud.”
But if hell freezes over before the next flood
The position of women may fully be stressed.
Until then, poor digestion is all that proceeds.

Friday News Roundup

TheMagicRealist.com

If the news are as cattle, is battle the wave
Of the future where sources of worthy content
Shoot it out in the main among those who are not?
Giddy up them thar dogies; they are a fine lot.
Head them up. Move them out. Cover every event
Where the focus is stuck on how folks misbehave.

I’m no cowboy journalist. That’s a fine art.
Yet, I could not demand that it be nothing more
Than the facts – not discussion among talking heads.
Verbal discourse can wrap the mind in tangled threads.
We seem used to tough leather. Our spirits seem poor.
Yet, that image is fallacy right from the start.

I can round up them rascals quite well on my own.
I can tell them, “Go thither,” and they will do so.
This old world is in good shape. The town is a mess.
One could say we are bastions of beef, more or less.
They may be disapproving. If so, they must go.
I don’t mind my own head talking when I’m alone.

A Nation of Cause, Not of Men

TheMagicRealist.com

Hi! Dick Dudworthy here with some cryptic advise
For those seeking help to get right with the law.
I’m as blind as a bat. That’s how life should be seen
So I can’t tell what’s dirty from that which is clean.
They are both interchangeable, and best of all
I need not speak the truth. I need but to act nice.

An attorney is one who sorts out right from wrong
From the client’s perspective… a short order crook.
Every law is a structure with moveable parts.
They require those skilled in the deceptive arts.
So it doesn’t make much sense to play by the book.
You may end up in some place where you don’t belong.

Although justice is blind, that don’t help my behind
With deciphering how human nature becomes
So entangled in verbal machinery that
We can sue anyone at the drop of a hat.
I exist for those righteous in beating the drums
Of devout indignation and false peace of mind.

The Octopus’ Garden

TheMagicRealist.com

If one cares for one’s garden, all good things will grow.
One must watch it consistently to keep it free
Of invaders like grasshoppers and other pests
And of all of the things that a garden detests.
If one ignores one’s garden, it will come to be
That it grows rather poorly. This much I do know.

In brief commentary to she who’s named Mary
I would ask how her garden exists in her mind.
If she said, “It’s a puzzle. It doesn’t make sense,”
I would then be obliged to take her thought’s defense.
Everything about life is a game of a kind.
There’s no burden to play… no big load to carry.

I can cultivate gardens of chaos by how
My neglect of them leaves them wide open to prey.
I can bring about order when things run amuck.
I can do myself well by not passing the buck.
The wise octopus frolics through much of his day.
He’s at home in serenity forever now.

 

Being * Doing * Having

TheMagicRealist.com, The Magic Realist, Magic Realism

Ask a child what he wants to be when he grows up.
He will tell you most certainly what that will be.
That’s because he is centered. He has not learned how
To add doubt to his judgement. He lives in the now.
What is fixed in the mind’s eye is rightful to see.
The child’s measure of joy is as kettle to cup.

We can be, do or have anything that is thought.
This fine truth is as old as the makers of time.
Children know this until they are programmed to not.
It’s the way of society. Most have forgot
That the secret to living in wonder sublime
Is to follow one’s dreaming towards that which is sought.

Children ask lots of ‘why?’ and expect us to tell
As they see us as wiser than they at the start.
Then when they become older, they see how confused
And beset with obsession with being abused
We can be. And to them it seems we’ve made an art
Of subverting ambition and making life hell.

Ask yourself why you want it – that which you desire.
It will then become active. This universe has
Every means that is known and unknown to provide
The reality dreamt of and worked toward with pride.
The dreams of the children have worth just as much as
Those of anyone with the good will to reach higher.

Learning To Read From Those Greedy To Earn

TheMagicRealist.com

Hope you’re chillin’, Macmillan and sick McGraw Hill.
What the Fuck are your names worth? Ten dollars per page?
What the Hell are you teaching our kids by your ways?
Your kids all learn in private while smothered in praise
That’s as fake as the actor upon a live stage.
I am baffled, again, by the farce of free will.

It is part of my undoing that I am cast
In the drama where bullshit become the stage props.
Why I can’t have a textbook when I volunteer
To help kids with their reading, to me, is unclear.
I could spend time with children until my heart stops
But this issue of profit is one that will last.

Grubby Publisher, What Gives You The Arrogant Ass
To charge hundreds for children’s books for public schools?
Oh! I get it! Your greed gives you every damned right.
You may kiss mine profusely throughout this white night.
Who the Hell stole your insight? We all are not fools.
A new fresh wave is coming. This old one will pass.

Mega Motor Mothermouth

TheMagicRealist.com

Mega Mother Mirifica straight from Thailand
Is the herb I’m most high on. It is nature’s best.
None can mess with my motormouth. Many have tried.
I will talk rings around people and with great pride.
When my speech engine piques, I out motor the rest.
I don’t know what I’m saying, but folks understand.

Give me riches or fame or life’s forbidden fruit.
That may satisfy me if I were but a dame.
But my mouth is terrific. It runs on its own
Whether standing before you or via smartphone.
Men and women do motormouth about the same
And this doesn’t stop either from being astute.

I have something to say just as those who do not.
It can’t matter too little if there’s little talk
Because I fill the vacuum when there is no sound.
I could gab myself giddy. I’m quick to expound
On most anything uttered among any flock.
Where there are ears to talk to, I do what I ought.

Here’s The Beef

TheMagicRealist.com

I am Manny, the meat man with many fine meats.
I will slice through your town and deliver fine cuts
Of the purest of premium beef parts there are.
I’ll deliver the beef with no bull from afar
Nor nearby so that all will have beef in their guts
Or their butts depending on how well the soul eats.

I do carry whole beef by the half or hind quart
Or by wedges with holes in them to give them air.
I have beef by the barrel, if that be your shape
Or by hormone replacement without the red tape.
The whole world is a meat market, just to be fair.
All I do is deliver. I’ll never run short.

“Where’s the Beef?”, then, should not be a question for you.
I have advertised subtly through the ages.
Beef is totally nourishing, high grade protein.
It can make the soul hearty and make the heart mean.
My whole beef isn’t mean. It’s practiced in stages.
I should start selling veggies. Folks might like that too.

A Day On The Calendar

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s a day on the calendar. That’s all it means
To someone who has no home and nowhere to go.
And it means nothing also to someone like me
Whose contempt for most humans sometimes one can see.
It’s a day for a break from the bountiful flow
Of societal cues that have made us machines.

It’s a day to be thankful. That much I’ll admit.
Yet, that is true for every day that I exist.
It’s peculiar to put aside one day a year
For engaging in thankfulness, some out of fear
That if they don’t partake, they will hardly be missed.
Among culture and family, one must commit.

I am thankful that God has shown me a new day
Full of wonder, excitement and joy unsurpassed.
I’d be thankful too, had I not lived through the night.
There’s a time for my leaving this world with no fight.
I am thankful my time here is not meant to last.
Have a blessed Thanksgiving, my heart does obey.

Poetic License

TheMagicRealist.com, The Magic Realist, Magic Realism

“Have Engine – Will Poet” shall be my motto.
When it comes right down to it, it’s one with some tread.
As I travel this highway, my ride must be smooth.
When my word road is bumpy, how can my work soothe?
I require Full License in trust that I’m read
Like a bird at its leisure with some place to go.

I’ve a License Poetic to prove I may drive
My machine in whatever way I judge to be
Beneficial in getting up just enough speed
But not so much that reading becomes a hard deed.
I am easy to read, and I cruise radar free.
Way ahead of departure, I’m good to arrive.

There’s no Highway Patrol for the poet in me.
They say it’s not my day job. I’m too small a fish.
I have not earned my letters for poetic arts.
Thus, I don’t have the right to endear people’s hearts.
So, I’m wild on my highway. I do as I wish.
I can poet my ass off and do it with glee.

Diagnostic Statistical Menace

TheMagicRealist.com

Have I spent enough time with my sick self today?
Seems I’ve used a reserved word from DSM twelve.
Some will tell me I’m sick by the things that I write.
They’ve a right to be right. I will give them no fight.
I shall keep on creating. My true heart will delve
Into all that I must be. I’m structured that way.

There’s a time for believing I’m worth every bit
Of the life force and consciousness focused through me.
That time is, as always, always, and I’m sure
That if I took the time to make sure I’m secure
I would freefall through life like the leaf from the tree.
Life’s momentum is fated so I cannot quit.

Yes, I spent time with self today, searching my soul
Not for reason of purpose or conscience remorse
But for meaning in how I relate to this day.
Did I learn anything new and have fun at play?
That is nobody’s business except mine, of course.
Yet my sharing it with you is part of my goal.

Serrated Serenade

TheMagicRealist.com

I’m one cat who is lovesick. My heart is in tune
Well to your heart’s desires, whatever they be.
Though I sing like a sick wheel and play pretty bad
I am having the best time that I’ve ever had
Pouring my heart before you and for all to see
That I am at my best when I’m touched by the moon.

I’m in love with my loving. Not so much with you
Though you happen to be at my center of gaze.
I’m in love with my living and being carefree.
There’s one purpose to living, and that is to be.
Then whatever ensues will enlighten my days.
I can share that with you but I can’t say, “I do.”

There are no strings attached to our living the bliss
Of communing in harmony throughout our years.
I do like you somewhat. Let’s just see how it plays.
What will come of our joining, our hearts will appraise.
May we forge our way forward and conquer our fears.
We’ll begin such a journey upon our first kiss.

Flustercuck

TheMagicRealist.com

There are two or more gathered. It could be in grace
Or in consort with cunning in weaving a spell.
Many people united can become perplexed
With that ‘chicken or egg’ thing and which will come next.
That lame argument is a façade with a smell.
It was implemented to keep fools in their place.

People are much like chickens. We scratch and we peck
At that which is below us, as we judge it so.
As we gather together, we make such a fuss
Over just about anything meaningless, thus
Most the worms we’re consuming will not make us grow.
Social clusters are often a pain in the neck.

I am not xenophobic. I cuck with a few
Of my species because alone I’d not survive.
Each one pecks in one’s own way. There’s no reason why
One should peck like another. No rules here apply
Except those of the cosmos wherein we may thrive
As we had well intended when we were brand new.

Particular Judgement

TheMagicRealist.com

Dear Diary, what a long day it has been.
I spent time with some children, but that part was short.
Since I’m older, I take social duties to heart
Although, what I would teach kids is how to take part
In their own self-becoming. I’d fully support
What their true hearts desire again and again.

It’s adults who are headaches. Our spirits are dull
When it comes to most anything. What can we teach
To the little ones who are much closer to truth?
We could turn off the bible and study our youth
For a little while until we are what we preach.
Life is not my migraine. It’s a point to the skull.

It’s been all about finding some honor today.
And that seems somewhat meaningless even to me
As this long day recesses. I am an adult.
I behave like a child. That is not an insult.
Most adults I know couldn’t hold shit to a tree.
What I learn most from most children is how to play.

This Mirror Called Life

TheMagicRealist.com

Who enjoys a good puzzle? I think we all do.
It is good therapy for the indigent mind.
I don’t make life a riddle. It is on its own.
I can complicate matters, but what I am shown
Is a whole world of images, some ill-defined,
But all reflecting all that reflects all that’s true.

There is manifold evidence life is a bore
If I trick myself into believing it’s true.
I could turn on devices and get them to share
What we most have in common that we can compare.
But devices turn off just like real people do.
Life’s a game and a puzzle obsessed with a score.

I can’t stimulate others to what rings my bell.
That’s a matter of free will I’m doomed to respect.
If this world knew about me, you’d be in my case.
You would find somethings on me to cause me disgrace.
My most valued reflections of life are suspect
To the mirrors of scrutiny I know too well.

Of Our Souls’ Unlike Poles

TheMagicRealist.com

Poles unlike can repel as this picture will tell:
One kind heart made for loving; one mean one for war.
We behave on all spectrums we feel may make sense.
Our magnetic reactions are our chief defense.
We are bipolar creatures who strive to be more
Than our natures can handle at times, but we’re well.

Are we well on our way to whoever we are
Without knowing the heart’s place in living life well?
The invisible flux lines we claim as our force
Can bring us true alignment or steer us off course.
At the seam of life’s structure is where I can dwell…
Where extremes in my makeup are never too far.

Unlike poles do attract, as a matter of fact.
My perceptive comparisons are just a way
To make sense of the magnetic soup I swim in.
Although noble a task, the task is to begin
Living life to its fullest with focus on play.
It’s a whole different thing, though, when like poles attract.

Celestial Susan

TheMagicRealist.com

A gigantic turntable exists in the sky.
It is called the ecliptic. It is the sun’s path
That outlines its circumference in such a way
That it marks off twelve slices in polar array.
It becomes not a hard task to learn all the math
That is needed to figure out where planets lie.

Seems it is both or neither a science nor art
Though its practice dates back to the dawning of time.
Those who think it is folly are set in their ways.
With the scientist’s method, sometimes progress stays
On the cusp of discovery, stuck in mid climb.
Yet the mind and the heart are not lightyears apart.

The Celestial Susan is put into place
As a piece of a clockwork in sync with the ways
Of behaviors of people according to when
And where time introduced them to this life again.
Our precise correlations can awe and amaze.
We are live on a turntable nestled in space.

Flaming Petutia

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s a Flaming Petutia. Minutia fulfills
All desires the human mind idle can bare.
Though the fragrance is earthy, true colors do bloom
As a function of how much the mind will consume
With the purpose of sorting out what one can share
With some others in hopes it may trigger some thrills.

The Petutia, a sphincter with petals unique,
Can release, as it opens, what lies under foot.
It is not to be looked at. It’s grosser than hell!
There’s no flower quite like it. How does it compel
One to while away blissful with feelings well put
In a fine floating boat that is headed down creek?

It is done by my knowing the world makes no sense
Except for the ones who have found a good space
In a field gone prolific in manifold smell.
I partake in whatever will ring my heart’s bell
And will make life a fresh one immune to disgrace
Every moment, in light of no need for defense.

Zonehenge

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s a fact we spend much of our time in some queue.
Though we seem to be busy, we’re standing in line.
It is so unproductive to waste so much time
While we’re being held captive. No moment is prime
When there’s no movement forward – no sense of a sign
That my prison will free me for more things to do.

Does it seem to be moving? I can’t really tell.
The Illusion of movement can play with the mind.
Where in the world else but in non-moving lines
Can the mind shut down gracefully as it resigns
Itself to the reality that I’m confined
In a life situation a half tier from hell?

Like most relics, lines have evolved at a slow rate
Notwithstanding their increasing length over time.
We are Stonehenge-like creatures when frozen in place.
When I’m loose in a mindscape, I feel no disgrace.
I should zone out as my time seems not worth a dime.
Life is much more worth living than having to wait.

Be Happy Any [Frigging] Way

TheMagicRealist.com

Bring that water to boil one degree at a time
Over centuries. That ought to get me to cook.
I am fat, dumb and happy, but I tend to squeal
When I feel I’m not getting a fair and square deal.
You, the chef, satisfy me. I won’t take a look
At what’s happening to me. I’m feeling sublime.

Love the pills that you’re giving me? Maybe you should.
They are ripping my cells apart. My mind as well.
And they’re making you rich beyond anyone’s dreams.
I’m a pig in a blanket of filth, so it seems.
We, the three hundred million-fold, can’t seem to tell
If we’re being well-porked and if that’s to our good.

Does my better self-see things the way that I do?
Surely Not! It’s a view that it knows has no truth.
So, it’s up to my lesser self to find a way
To find positive aspects to brighten my day.
I prefer to be self-controlled and in my youth.
Although life can affect me, I’m not in its stew.

Earth’s Skin Issues

TheMagicRealist.com

Mother Earth’s skin is gorgeous. She cares for it well.
She does not use cosmetics, cold creams or the like.
But she’s beautiful as people see her from space.
She’s a greenish blue marble with such a clear face.
And she does what she needs to do, should disease strike.
She can get people moving like bats out of hell.

We The People are ones who infect her fine skin
And cause blisters and blemishes through disregard
For her womanhood. We treat her like an old bitch.
Yet we’re willing to rape her so some may get rich.
When her face gets too dirty and too deeply scarred
She will wipe herself clean so new life can begin.

The Earth’s skin is an organ – the largest of all.
That’s in terms of her surface where all life takes place.
As we help care for her skin as we do our own
She may see us as not a disease overgrown.
All the damage done to her, she well can erase.
She’ll get rid of us too, and it seems it’s her call.

My Path Does Not Walk Me

TheMagicRealist.com

My life path doesn’t run me nor walk me at all.
It is not like a treadmill where I can pass by
The same scenery, never to see something new…
Where the mind needs fine earbuds to see the path through.
Life is not like a chore I must do or I’ll die.
It’s the way that I walk or run, and sometimes crawl.

Sometimes things on my path seem to follow along
Like lost puppies, or butterflies or disturbed bees.
They are just on my path. I could leave them behind.
They will not come around again if I’m inclined
To look forward and outward with care to the breeze.
That’s a path I can follow. That’s where I belong.

When my life is a treadmill, it just does not work,
Though there’s plenty of effort and movement and sweat
And the heart and lungs pump like there’s no end in sight.
But that doesn’t quite get it. I’m nowhere despite
All the hard work I’m doing, though I don’t regret
Inner growth as a byproduct and a nice perk.

A Parallel Gaming

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s a parallel gaming. There’s shit going on
That we can’t know enough about. There’s just too much.
Airplanes going through buildings cannot make them fall.
As you watch it again, demolition is all
That is clear in the mind. We are eager to clutch
Onto whatever game plan is meant for the pawn.

Yes, there is some world order that is being planned
But it’s been going on since the Church game board came.
There are steep hierarchical ladders and chutes
Woven into life’s fabric and up through our roots.
Games we think we are playing are not quite the same
As that of the few ones with the world underhand.  

We could just mind our own business. Maybe that way
We’d disrupt the game process by not feeding hype.
The news media, big pharma, ‘organized’ crime
And so many more game boards will wither with time.
These are times that are turbulent and fully ripe
For an ultimate game playing toward our doomsday.

How To Make A Time Bomb

TheMagicRealist.com

A time bomb is not something that’s already made.
It takes years to develop one effectively.
Like the one that goes ‘cuckoo’, this time bomb will tell
Anyone within earshot that he is not well.
With his symptoms ignored, he goes on a blood spree.
In his heart, he believes life is viciously played.

Now, this is a fine time bomb; we all can agree.
It’s not hard to construct one. It does take some time
And some diligence at making him feel depraved
Of all semblance of worthiness dreamt of or craved.
Our society makes them, and it’s not a crime.
When backed into life’s corner, how can one feel free?

Making time bombs of people is such a fine art.
It requires a knack for discrete social cues
And a cool, subtle disregard toward those not cool.
Don’t let any guilt get involved. Don’t be a fool.
It’s a shame that we know not when he’ll light his fuse.
It’s the products we nurture that blow us apart.

Some Advice For Young Poets

TheMagicRealist.com

There’s a reason I didn’t start speaking ‘til four,
As my family began to think something was wrong.
I just needed more time. Language didn’t seem quite
Like something to take lightly. That didn’t seem right.
I was rushed into speaking so I’d get along
With society’s programs and culture and more.

Perhaps I took enough time to learn language well
Long before I would stutter and make some mistakes.
My perfectionist attitude slowed down my pace.
Had I known living life well amounts to a race
I would not have been tricked into playing high stakes
In a game I know nothing of. I am in hell!

I would want future poets to see I made sense
On some level, despite my most retrograde mind.
Have your way with my style and do call it your own.
Do Not tell them it’s mine because my life is blown.
Anything attached to my name is ill-assigned.
Make a carcass of my work and at my expense.

 

It’s About Self Control

TheMagicRealist.com

I attract what comes to me – no doubt about that.
When I find myself frazzled by what’s in my way,
I do tend to go off. I’ve been known to get riled
When I feel that my honor is being defiled
By someone with control issues and much to say –
Not with words but with attitude like a bobcat.

Tough black cats at the drive thru is what I will get
When I doubt what my better self knows fully well.
That is: No one can damage my ‘honor’ but me.
What goes on in the real world is not mine to see.
I can get through this fine day without letting hell
Have her pleasure at my expense and much regret.

Self-control is a skill to be practiced and honed
And this world does provide opportunities great.
I can move most my muscles; that much is for sure.
I command subtle energies never obscure
To my worthiness as well as those whom I hate.
My distaste for the drive thru is hereby postponed.

He’s Right About That

TheMagicRealist.com

Well, of course I am right, you malignant disgrace
To my intellect! Why would you think I am wrong?
I am right about many things. You are as well.
Why is it when I speak it becomes a hard sell?
Shall I submit to feeling like I don’t belong
To the rest of this universe in the first place?

Yes, I’m right about things. I am wrong sometimes too.
There’s a sameness among us all. Why am I cast
In a world outside yours. Don’t you know that’s not right?
That’s why people go ape shit and get so uptight.
If you want your ephemeral friendships to last
Then respect what folks have to say as they would you.

People’s rightness or wrongness can be loosely based
On one’s subconscious preferences that cloud the mind
With fallacious assumptions and fractured impressions.
If we dislike someone we give subtle expressions
Of disgust and judgement that aren’t very kind.
One’s contempt for dishonor seems never misplaced.

The Contemptuous Twidge McSmidgen

TheMagicRealist.com

Mrs. Twidglene McSmidgen is of the old school
Where control in the classroom is gained by brute force.
She could not have grown old watching Sesame Street.
She is like Foghorn Leghorn and doomed to defeat.
She can not swat the tots and then stutter, of course.
She would love to use some kind of ‘discipline tool.’

But the ‘tools’ today are much like bargaining chips.
And her chips are down usually by display.
She can’t muster the will to negotiate with
Such inferior beings. To her, it’s a myth
That the little ones might become people someday.
It seems teachers and tyrants are joined at the hips.

Many teachers are parents, so they have some clue
As to what makes most little ones act out in ways
That are deemed not appropriate and impolite.
And they do have some sense of what’s wrong and what’s right.
They are people with voices. Their minds aren’t a maze
Nor a puzzle with which we know not what to do.

Digital Ties

TheMagicRealist.com

I have digital ties, and much to my surprise
I’ve no need to make contact in any real way
With the people in my life and throughout the earth.
I’ve been trick-fucked by fellowship ever since birth.
I have God on my Facebook wall. That’s how I pray.
I have no need for sense. Social discourse is wise.

Although digital ties may lead to my demise
I just can’t do without them. They’re part of my act.
My whole friendship endeavor is too loosely based
On how many ‘page views’ and ‘likes’ that have replaced
My own sense of self-worth. I spit out the harsh fact
That would have me believe I’m a fool in disguise.

My damned digital ties may in time make me wise
To the bullshit behind all the ‘thumbs up’ I chase.
If I can’t find fulfillment within my own soul
I have no sense of value – no means of control.
I’ll continue to live life, yet fully embrace
Social Media’s squalor and all it implies.

A Chawpauper’s Chance

TheMagicRealist.com

As most archetypes merge and evolve into more
Well-submerged in subconsciousness, earth drives the soul
Toward fulfilling its haughty desires unscathed
Until true life departs oneself. Then one is bathed
In a fog unbecoming a person who’s whole.
Even though one is chawless, there’s much to adore.

I know nothing of chaw. I am in no debate.
But by rogue curiosity I can possess
Some faint insight benevolent to the chaw heart.
Chaw is nasty to me. We are lightyears apart.
I can see people packing it when under stress.
When they’re chawless, they enter a psychotic state.

I’ve respect for the chawless and chawfull as well.
Rather than keeping tongue in cheek, they keep a ball
Of the foulest, most fecal of substances made.
Yet, it’s not by my scale that another is weighed.
Whence a chawpauper’s chance could be measured as small
It’s the breath that might kill you because of the smell.

Stock Up On B’Jesus

TheMagicRealist.com

I’ve stocked up on B’Jesus. I keep tons on hand.
I am sometimes scared out of it due to my not
Having faith in my knowing that harm can’t occur
In my life unless I turn my cheek, as it were,
From the wellbeing present. In fact, there’s a lot
Of ways to keep B’Jesus intact as I’d planned.

If B’Jesus were marketed in such a way
That it wouldn’t wreak havoc within the mass soul,
Then maybe all God’s people would trade fear for love.
That would be kind of boring for souls up above.
They would rather we kick back and watch super bowl.
With B’Jesus so volatile, keep lots and pray.

My B’Jesus supply is my ticket to health
In a way that no doctor in my life could be.
All B’Jesus is warehoused and shipped from the place
Deep within self and to self in radiant grace.
Any feces that’s fan-borne can’t terrify me.
So, in terms of B’Jesus, I wallow in wealth.

Soap On The Brain Syndrome

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These darned kids, nowadays, must have Soap On The Brain.
It’s that newfangled illness that’s talked about much.
No one knows where it came from. Perhaps it’s from soap.
They are clearly too full of themselves. I can’t cope
With these youngsters who sound off to adults and such.
Is their purpose for living to drive us insane?

Yes, it’s Soap On The Brain Syndrome without a doubt.
There’ve been studies on soap suds of various kinds.
One would think they’d all brainwash to make the kid good
But they do just the opposite of what they should.
One good reason for pills is to shut down their minds
So that they are obedient. That’s the best route.

God knows children today are so matter of fact.
They will speak their truth loudly so that they are heard.
They will take to life, each in extravagant ways
And remember a lifetime of wonderful days.
Once our need to control them is seen as absurd
We will see we’re the ones who should clean up our act.

The Beleaguered Debate

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It’s been said truth sounds like hate to those who hate truth.
Now, if that ain’t a paradox, send me to school!
Does this mean that falsehood sounds like love to the ones
Among us who serve mendacity by the tons?
That one’s truth is another’s excuse for a duel
Is a symptom that manifests from early youth.

I am prone to dig deeper to get to the core
Of that which is excitable, pleasant or not.
When big planets drop by and move in for a year
I could choose to expand my affairs without fear.
There are things about passion that scare me a lot.
Though I keep on complaining, I do ask for more.

When the elements fire and water touch base
The emotions are heated to levels above
That which cannot withstand being liquid in form.
They expand with a power apart from the norm.
We can be broken down to be rebuilt in love.
It’s a Jupiter/Scorpio thing taking place.

Concealed Carry

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Should I carry my tool in a spare vestibule
Under armpit or next to my lower left nut?
I could hide one inside my collapsible shoe
Then when I click my heels I could put a hole through
Any short mother fucker who thinks he knows what
Makes him bad enough to take on such a damned fool.

I’ve a right to conceal it – my fearfulness streak.
It’s a feeling I’m used to. It makes common sense.
Everyone has one’s own set of circumstances
Wherein fear reinforces and heightens the chances
Some gun will go off in the name of defense.
I must conceal my fearfulness or I’ll feel weak.

So, do carry my way. Guns are here to stay.
And it’s not like we’re civil. We’re wicked and wild.
We’re a cumbersome species who can’t get along.
We need plenty of weaponry to make us strong.
Guns and gun control can be left up to the child
Who would see them as folly and wish them away.

Full Function Generator

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To maintain a wave function, there’s unction involved,
Of the kind that is foul like the breath of the bowel.
When gratuitous bodily functions persist,
Then events that are current should drift off my list
Of life scenes I engage with. A healthy avowal
Is one I’ll not take lightly if life seems unsolved.

Live does seem rather gross. There is spit in the air.
Folks are hocking their guts out for others to see.
But it’s just my perception. I see it that way
Only if it is helpful in making my day
The way I and those like me would like it to be.
Were there not others like me, life wouldn’t be fair.

Life’s a function phenomenal – much like a dream
Where the mind excretes heavily upon the soul.
To endure a wave function would take strength of will.
To collapse one effectively, one must have skill.
In the grim art of winning at every sought goal,
There’s a point where one thinks that one’s will is supreme.

The Mystery of Faith

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Without faith and with shoes on, I walk across time.
Half way past holy bullshit, I always find more.
From the fake polls that tell me that Clinton should win
To the priests who spunk little boys (Ain’t that a sin?),
I know faith is a mystery dressed as a whore.
It’s complexity makes for a rich paradigm.

I can take what seems solid and firm to the touch
As mere referral points that in time will dissolve
Into nothingness, just like the space in-between
All particulate substances that can’t be seen.
God has given each soul its own puzzle to solve.
As for seeking consensus – it doesn’t mean much.

Yet, it means much to those who would have me believe
There’s a God who’s outside me who’s bigger than mine.
We are followers. That’s why we’re tended like sheep.
We are strung out for someone’s commandments to keep.
Any fool with a message will suit the world fine.
Faith is oft’ an elixir to numb the naïve.

Too Much to Chew

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I’ve got too much too chew. It came out of the blue
Or oblivious. I don’t know which one it is.
Simple greetings befall me as well as small talk.
By default I’m committed. There’s no room to balk.
I’ve been offered a chewing as well as a quiz
Once again I’m amazed by what I’ve stepped into.

This huge bone I’ve accepted seemed small at the start.
Or perhaps my small eyes see most anything big.
My eyes get me in trouble. My loose tongue as well.
I do act on my own and create my own hell.
If my eyes could see big things as small as a twig
Perhaps then I’d be shielded from hurt to the heart.

I should bite off a large chunk if I think I can
Get my jaws wrapped around it not seeming the fool.
Yet when I find that I’ve bitten off more than I
Could digest in a lifetime, I’m ready to try
Anything that might stop my becoming a tool.
I can be of good service and still be a man.

The Decisive Device

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A decisive device is one that can’t act nice.
Its decisions it makes with no input at all
From the user who just wants to get some things done.
I do not go for gaming nor surfing for fun.
And it gets so aggressive and makes me feel small.
I can’t deal with a dick headed devil device.

Don’t peek-a-boo to me with messages from
Your right corner, peripheral to my intent.
You do tittle my gaze as if I were a cat.
You should know that I’m human, and what’s wrong with that?
You continue to dick me. Indeed, you’re hell bent
On securing my madness so then you will cum.

A divisive sufficing may be what I need.
My decisive devices can get me perplexed.
When they tell me they’re doing things I don’t want done
Should I gather my privates, then turn tail and run?
I can’t figure out why things are so over sexed.
I shall guard my virginity as I proceed.

My Happiness Is My Gift to All

To others the greatest of gifts I can give
Is my happiness. Not that I have other things.
There are gifts that I give that have value to some
But the gift that is lasting is when I become
Mostly happy and joyful about what life brings.
Am I happy toward others? That’s how I should live.

I do seek joy selfishly. It’s the best way
To develop discernment in going about
Meeting others and caring about how they feel.
In releasing resistance my whole life can heal.
When I meet folks I want there to be not a doubt
That my motive is hearing what they have to say.

I must be in my joy or else I cannot be
Of assistance to anyone – not any way.
What I’m offering graciously is part of me.
Now, if I’m in a bad mood, it’s easy to see
That I’m out of alignment until the new day.
Mostly, though, I’m a present who’s offered for free.

Joy Is a Goal We Are ALL Working Toward

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Simple joy is the goal that we’re all working toward.
It’s the reason we do anything that we do.
It’s the basis of love and for finding things out.
It’s the reason that with lofty dreams we’re devout.
What we think will bring joy is what leads us all through
Bouts of painstaking diligence toward our reward.

It may seem that’s not so often times when we’re not
In alignment and open to be, have and do
Anything we desire no matter how grand.
And it takes some adjusting to well understand
How our thinking and feeling can offer a clue
To achieving our dreams that cannot be forgot.

We perceive joy uniquely – each in one’s own way.
Whether knowing or not where our motives lead to,
We are working toward joy every step of the way.
We each recognize this when we’re willing to play
In accordance with what makes the heart sing anew.
We all work toward the same goal each and every day.

A Cozy Corner in Hell

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Not a flame do I see through the walls that bind me
To my own belief systems and to my ideals.
No sensation of heat do I feel at this time.
It’s been creeping up slowly – a gradual climb.
Yet the only thing that could be fast on my heels
Is whatever I’m running from, were I not free.

There is no constant sameness of torment I feel.
But if I chose to feel some, my walls would agree.
They would burn away quickly and leave me exposed
To the flames I had feared and had kept my mind closed.
Life has given me purpose to burn and to be
A well-tempered perceiver of that which is real.

A comfortable room that does not have a view
Of the torment and peril apparently so
Is my space of recluse as I sort my hell out.
Do I fancy self-torture? There should be great doubt.
I seek solace in knowing what most others know…
That the hell that’s apparent cannot be so true.

Urinal Banter

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My manhood is so huge I could call it my pal.
I do treat it that way and it does that for me.
My big pants surely can’t be as big as my balls
And my man knows his way around feminine halls.
When I bang any bitch she will cry out in glee.
I have no trouble getting my female canal.

If she likes to slurp schlong she must have a deep throat.
My man meat is a muscle of mass and much more.
She will beg for my cock. She will give it high praise.
She will preach of my peace pipe the rest of her days.
I will slam dunk that hallway until it is sore.
Should she lapse into coma, then that’s all she wrote.

Women know that my screwing is lethal indeed.
I’ll have them blowing snot bubbles before they know
What the hell ever hit them while prancing in place.
As for any bitch my dick is her saving grace.
She’ll be speaking in tongues in her long afterglow.
I am damned good at humping and cranking out seed.

Mistress Therapeutia

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Your Mistress Therapeutia is always on call
Since the time of the dawning of Woman In Charge.
This puts Man in a frenzy. His dick at stake
As he fears minds of women may be more awake
And in tune with humanity’s worth, by and large.
Men should stand right behind them with hearts proud and tall.

Strong Mistress Therapeutia knows management well.
She is built to build families from foundation to
The most creative folds within nature’s cortex.
The embellishment of nature’s loving vortex,
Women’s bodies are sacred. This fact rings anew
As the women forthcoming are willing to tell.

I can live for that coming of age once again
When the warrior Woman commanded the tribe.
And there weren’t many wars because women kicked ass.
Many wars went unfought due to critical mass
Disengaging in tune to a more loving vibe.
I’m delighted to see women challenging men!

A Wet and Vibrant Dream

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Can one twiddle ho-hum in a trance while at sea
With the water so calm it could put one to sleep?
When I’m not in the moment I tend to miss out
On the fortunate happenings jumping about.
In this sea we call life we can go for a deep
Understanding of ourselves and what we can be.

I’m too busy, sometimes, with my head in my work,
That I seem to be sitting still as life speeds by.
Life can rock the boat gently to give me a nudge.
It can wreck it severely and I am the judge.
I can choose to be present or not even try.
That I’m offered the choice is one valuable perk.

Life is cast in a richness and wetness of flow
That surrounds and consumes everything that exists.
All of life is connected. There’s nothing apart
From the whole of creation ‘til now since its start.
As I navigate life it’s my soul that persists
In its quest to find meaning and joyfully grow.

But… This Map Is Sacred

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Please excuse me kind sir. I’m in search of a place
Somewhere in this fine city. Can you assist me?
What I have is this old map here. Hope you don’t mind.
I believe in this thing. It will save my behind
From a fucked afterlife. So, I’m sure you can see
I’m strung out on salvation and tons of God’s grace.

What is it that you say? This old map I possess
Has no relevance to where most things are today?
I have studied this map because God told me to.
And these long-ago landmarks should give me a clue
To whatever the Hell my God’s trying to say.
So I need to stay ancient. I vow to regress.

Could it be that the folks who lived so long ago
Had their own source of guidance in tune with their ways?
I can’t find many streets. Some no longer exist.
When I can’t find my landmarks I often get pissed.
Perhaps it is much better to live out my days
By my own inner guidance who’s easy to know.

To Allow My Well Being, I must Be in Joy

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We can learn much about joy by watching our young
As they take in each moment as water to sponge.
Their wellbeing is guaranteed. Life is secure.
And however they take life, their feelings are pure.
When provided a fun pool they eagerly plunge.
They’re composers. The songs of their lives can be sung.

How they do it is something we could take to heart.
We’re like broadcast receivers – the way we behave.
If I’m tuned to one hundred-point niner FM
AM stations elude me, indeed all of them.
I must tune to the happiness consciousness wave
If I want to give any good day its best start.

Indications that we and wellbeing are one
Are expressed in our feelings of passion and glee
And through exhilaration for each moment new.
Who’d have thought that our kids have the healthiest clue
To our living in joy with our spirits set free.
Everything about living should be based on fun.

Whatever Grinds Your Sea Salt

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Some men love to spank Hanky when Panky is steeped
In some other dank business that’s not of their own.
Seems all warnings of blindness one never will heed.
He will keep on performing his most selfish deed.
He will wrestle that monkey until it’s full grown
Then he’ll yank it some more until it has bo-peeped.

I would think it sound nature to find full relief
In whatever which way one must do what is done.
No one has any right to climb anyone’s tree.
One could train a good squirrel, though, to do it for fee.
So whatever will put your hotdog in the bun.
Do it wildly and proudly, and don’t make it brief.

One would float a bad boat with a lead overcoat
So it’s not recommended, but all else is cool.
And whatever will make that drunk chicken stand straight
Give the thing a tight fistful, for passion won’t wait.
Don’t get caught with your pants down. You’ll look like a fool.
What can surf through one’s channels is done by remote.

All the Months When There’s Hem

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Is there cause to cause mayhem though it may be June?
I should consult the Wiki folk. Maybe they know.
If I did a quick Google search perhaps I’d find
All the months when there’s hem so that I’ll stay behind
When those ripe for mayheming are willing to throw
All their sense toward the seizure by light of the moon.

 It makes sense that mayheming be done during May
Just as long as the heming is kept up to par.
If they outlawed June heming by April next year
Then would late April heming produce lesser fear?
Heming is much like J-walking. Some people are
Good at crafting slick short cuts to get through their day.

I’m for heming in May – not in June or July
Because warm months are those good for frolic and play.
I may mayhem in September as it cools down
Then partake of Oktoberfest while I’m in town.
Seems there’s no other month for mayheming but May
Though it’s outlawed in all months where Now does apply.

A Message from the Virgin General

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We all want to be healthy. I know I sure do.
That is why I eat only things I can digest.
Knowing that is not always the case, as I’ve found,
Sometimes I may consume what’s been cast to the ground.
What I swallow in error may keep me depressed
If I fail to eliminate all that’s untrue.

There’s a lot that is not healthy all around us.
I will pay some attention with caution in place.
With a mind like a trap, though, what I focus on
Can resent being caught and in no time be gone.
Though my health and my mind are tools I do embrace,
Staying healthy seems mundane – a chore to discuss.

I’ve an inkling for doing what wants to be done.
I’m my healthiest when I’m creating for fun.
I am earthy, so dogs in the back yard are cool.
Whether student or Prof. I find solace at school.
I am grateful I’ve no urge to tell anyone
That no work can get finished unless it’s begun.

Fork Out of Dodge

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I’m your Fork Out of Dodge – a proverbial guy.
I’m dramatic and forceful when it’s time to go.
Any fork undercover is grateful to be
Among those expelled first from Dodge most rightfully.
It’s the city most thought of when getting to know
The sensation of terror. The question is, Why?

Stuff can happen in any town. Why pick out one
To become the example of bad scenes to leave?
And since when does one’s safety depend on the fork?
People fork off in Kansas as well as New York!
Yet these questions are moot. I’d do best to conceive
My own clear understanding. It’s better than none.

I’m a Fork on the run and I haven’t got time
To be hanging around when the fan is turned on.
If you haven’t a fork who is stranded in Dodge
Then relax and partake of yourself a massage.
I will fly by the night. I will not wait ‘til dawn.
I am destined to grow toward a new paradigm.