Tag Archive | social commentary

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

A Man And The Electric Chair

TheMagicRealist.com

I have good news and bad news. Which first do you want?
Said the lawyer to his client waiting to die.
He was wrongly convicted. He did not commit
The act he was accused of, so soon he will sit
In series with set circuitry at voltage high.
He cannot see his lawyer as a confidant.

The law is not about what is true and not true.
It’s about who comes up with a viable proof
To confound enough clarity to warrant doubt.
Clever games of deception are what it’s about.
That is why most attorneys are rather aloof.
Of the ones who are worthy, there may be a few.

“What’s the bad news?” The man asked of his attorney.
“Electrons will rip through you until you are cooked.”
“What the hell is the good news, then?” Asked the doomed one.
“I convinced them to lower the voltage for fun.”
Can there be anything that is more overlooked

Than the chairs we’re assigned to that we cannot see?

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.

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.

A Fist Full Of Pipe

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

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.

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…]

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.

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.

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.

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.

Your Darned Tooting!

TheMagicRealist.com

If you think your darned tooting is something to be
An endorsement from me for your trying to play
That damned trumpet, you’re not only totally wrong,
You should give up the effort and take up ping-pong.
I can’t listen to you make that racket all day.
I have run out of earplugs most distressingly.

Your darned tooting your face off is stressing me out
And my ears have turned vicious defending their space.
They demand that my index fingers take a role
In preventing their suffering. They want control
Of what they are presented with. They can’t embrace
Your most discordant whaling. It sears them with doubt.

If you love your darned tooting, then toot as you may
Even though dead composers will puke in their graves.
Mom may find you have talent after quite some time.
As you learn about earth life, exposure is prime.
We are blessed in our seeing how all life behaves.
Keep up well with your lessons, but don’t make my day.

Don’t Ask This Question

TheMagicRealist.com

Both the mystic and mentor of physics exist
To find answers to questions we all come to ask.
Who we are, where we come from, and where we will go
Are among things that many endeavor to know.
Yet, we all have this knowledge. Indeed, we can bask
In rich inner experience that’s often missed.

The nature of my own experience is such
That I can’t find an answer from outside of me.
I can ask who you are, and that may make some sense,
But if I ask you who I am, that means I’m dense.
If I don’t know who I am, most shrinks would agree.
That’s why many consult them and pay them so much.

Very little pain ever comes from the outside.
Most of it is self-help, and consumption is high.
I alone am the path to the person I seek.
Each of us is a service of knowledge unique.
I’m a creature who ponders and keeps asking why
On earth would in someone else I’d care to confide.

Ascension Flu

TheMagicRealist.com

So much talk of Ascension – no mention of flu
When that’s all that’s been happening. God, am I sick!
I feel like the damned cosmos has taken a piss
On my sense of wellbeing. I don’t deserve this.
Getting through this Ascension is no easy trick.
To act somewhat enlightened is all I can do.

Some hot tea with some lemon and honey displace
Other methods of seeking alignment these days.
I have given my yoga mat some time to rest
So my chakra points will not be put through the test.
Kundalini is one thing I don’t want to raise.
Swollen sinuses have hijacked my inner space.

Have you heard of Ascension Flu? That’s what I’ve got.
Too much time spent ascending above the hard earth
Can result in the earth taking me to the side
To say, “You were born here, so by me you abide.”
Leave it to mother nature to mess with my mirth.
I’m all up for Ascension, but today I’m fraught.

Preexisting Condition

TheMagicRealist.com

Long before preexisting, butt fisting began
But instead of butt fists, folks who lead use their heads.
With the head up the rectum, the vision is dark.
The well-seasoned optometrists, proud to remark
That to preexist presently is how love spreads,
Can make of our fine health care a much better plan.

For the cephalic buttock, there is no support
But from butt-minded followers. They are the base,
Not that others are acids or potent mushrooms.
If things do appear alkaline, science assumes
That I should not be covered, except for my face.
If I smell what I’m seeing, I sell myself short.

For conditions beforehand to be well insured
We must have enough sense to wish everyone well.
Wellness can be contagious if we’re of right mind
And of simple compassion for all humankind.
To support the alignment of each living cell
Is to welcome the mindset that all can be cured.

An Elfen Plea

TheMagicRealist.com

All we do is make cookies. So, what is the deal?
We’ve been told through a tweet that our funds have been cut.
We’re not sure who’s behind this nor why it was done.
When we’re not hard at work all we do is have fun.
We’ve heard tell of a white house and some rabid nut.
We are creatures of peace. Are you people for real?

Some strange things have been going on these past few days.
Where do we get our news from? We don’t watch TV.
Carried on magic air waves, aroma is how
We support nature’s mission and stay in the now.
Who the Hell fucks with elves? That we can clearly see.
Potent anger can seep out in myriad ways.

We elves can prove our innocence. We can’t do wrong.
That’s because we are real only in the context
That is deemed to be righteous and willingly kind.
We are forever safe from one who’s lost his mind.
Who will get the next tweet when your white house is vexed?
If you’d just eat some cookies, you’d all get along.

Thorn Of Creation

TheMagicRealist.com

Pinnacle of Creation…? Are we the earth’s crown?
Seems I’ve heard that somewhere in my arrogant past.
We are made up of stardust. Although that is true,
We appear problematic from a cosmic view.
Climate change is no hoax. I can see that at last.
If we don’t find consensus, our world may burn down.

We are created equal. Does that mean we are
At the top of the life chain by virtue of wit?
There’s no chain in life’s balance. Its will to consume
Is its own sense of freedom to allocate doom
Quite at random. To nature we’ll learn to submit.
If we don’t, she may tell us to go fuck a star.

We’re the Thorn of Creation, at this point in time
And within the eternal. We ain’t about shit
Both in good ways and shallow ways in normal space.
We cry out to the cosmos. Bravo for our race!
We have rampant dominion. We can’t be unfit
Lest we’re given the pink slip for negligent crime.

Things Delightful

TheMagicRealist.com

I do find you delightful and rightfully so
Even though I know you’re not something I could own
Like another fine plaything. You are flesh and blood
And although I’m not sexy, I think I’m a stud.
Could it be that the best things are best left alone?
If it’s true it is something I care not to know.

Things are made up of atoms. Delightful they are
For the concept of building blocks that we hold dear.
We delight in our concepts – the things of the mind.
We must know that without them we need not feel blind.
Things delightful can in a flash all disappear.
Starting over with nothing must be quite bizarre.

God bless all things delightful and people as well.
We are here for a short while. We’re made of this place.
The earth is not a plaything. Have we gone too far?
Has the wrath of the Ricans spilled our caviar?
Can we claim our survival as one human race
Before our self-undoing? It’s too hard to tell.

Esoteric Asshology

TheMagicRealist.com

Why are some people assholes while others are fine?
One would have to look into the sky for some truth.
If the sign of the asshole had welcomed the sun
At the time that the life of the jerk had begun,
That’s a sure sign you’ll need a stiff shot of vermouth
If indeed you must deal with him by fate’s design.

A quick course in asshology may be of use
Since this sign is prolific among all there are.
Those born under the asshole outnumber the rest
Of all other signs totaled. This means we’re not blessed.
So assholes are more plentiful clearly by far.
They cannot be contained. That is why they run loose.

Esoteric in nature, what assholes know well
Is how to make life difficult for those they serve.
Their asshology should make them bright asshole stars.
Pseudoscience can benefit from their memoirs
Written in the third person to throw all a curve.
It does feel like the cosmos is under a spell.

Closet For Rent

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

How Cool Is The Coulomb?

TheMagicRealist.com

It is I who is E who is M times C squared.
I don’t have to believe it. I feel that it’s so.
When a group of electrons reach a certain size
They are then called a Coulomb. Now that’s a fine prize!
It’s not like he’s their daddy who lived long ago.
Electrons have had freedom before humans cared.

But why quibble with detail? The question is this:
Can electrons do harm to the things they flow through
Or the pathways they travel at nearly light speed?
Only if they are frightened by force of ill deed.
Back and forth through the circuitry, each time is new
With a frequency so high they can’t reminisce.

History does repeat itself. Electrons flow
To and fro in the same ways they’ve done all along.
The Coulomb is preferred over one who’s not cool.
If one runs out of charge, one may drift like a fool.
There is great strength in numbers. The Coulomb is strong.
It can keep us in darkness or make the bulb glow.

On Not Eating The Foo

TheMagicRealist.com

Don’t be eating the foo! That stuff is bad for you.
If you want to stay healthy, just stick with the rice.
The foo may contain pork snout and ass of the gnat.
I don’t mess with the foo. You can understand that.
Either veggies or raw fish or fruit will suffice.
Staying clear of the foo is the right thing to do.

There are many a creature who do act the foo.
Other creatures consume them and all that they say.
If their acts become fishy, full blown is the need
To protect what was gained through deception and greed.
We may look for a hero to come save our way
Of believing and digesting all we can chew.

What is far worse is eating the foo, I believe.
If you’re not good with chopsticks, you will not do well.
We are clumsy already with just forks and knives.
That may well be a good thing – a check on our lives.
To avoid indigestion and feeling like hell,
Feed that foo to the big bowl, then joyfully grieve.

The Human Condition

TheMagicRealist.com

There is plenty of time now to take a zoom out
And a break from the human condition I’m in.
There is freedom to go out and breathe some fresh air.
Even though there is plenty, some don’t seem to care.
Man will act out in ways of Original Sin.
There is no will to reason and no time to doubt.

It’s The Human Condition, the one that feels fear
From the slightest involvement in life every day,
That again disappoints me, although that can’t be.
I create what I feel, as I judge what I see.
All that goes on around me is ego at play.
If I looked at it that way, would life become dear?

I know well my condition, at home on a speck
Within vastness unspeakable to the hard brain.
All of human accomplishment has to make sense.
True enlightenment maybe will someday commence.
Is there fear that the notion is taken in vain?
Some fresh air and some solitude keeps me in check.

The Privilege Of Sport

TheMagicRealist.com

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

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

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

It’s The Enemy, Stupid!

TheMagicRealist.com

It is not the economy or climate change,
Nor the busloads of niggers invading our land.
It is not about faith in the red, white and blue
Spouted off by a leader who has not a clue.
We create most our enemies by our own hand.
We may look in the mirror and not feel so strange.

Who comes here from some faraway land to kill folk?
There may be one or two, if statistics are fair.
It would seem we’re the problem – not people outside.
If we looked at this truthfully, we’d shed some pride.
We’ve become awfully tribal. Most people don’t care.
We are prey to our own as our hatred we stoke.

Take a look at the enemy not of brown skin
…The poor ones wanting freedom from their oppressed lands.
They don’t come here to kill us. We do have our own.
They are ruthlessly masterful, and they’re home grown.
If you speak with an accent no one understands,
Know that you’re not the enemy we keep within.

Ditsy Dog Dogma

TheMagicRealist.com

If you do own a Ditsy Dog or one owns you,
You have much to give, one to the other, by way
Of much love and attention to every detail
Of each moment where truth and excitement prevail.
Therapeutic is that which can get us to play.
That’s the Ditsy Dog Dogma. It can be mine too.

I would not call him frisky. At that he would balk.
Energy is a substance he draws from the air.
He will prance like a dancing bear when giving thanks
Or whenever I praise his most marvelous pranks.
I do find him quite silly, but he doesn’t care.
He reminds me of that when we go for a walk.

Ditsy Dogs are delightful. Their hearts are of gold.
They are prime entertainment and good exercise.
Any mood that is sour, they will make it right
Through deliberate daftness and attitude bright.
And in step with their dogma, they are our allies
From the time we are children until we are old.

Congregation

TheMagicRealist.com

Will they meet for the last time or many times more
Than the law will allow self-destruction to rule,
Not unnoticed but ignored and pushed to the side
Among their congregation oddfellowed with pride?
To partake of communion, one must play the fool
For a leader who all think that they would die for.

They prepare for their teacher. His lies they ignore.
It’s the gist of his message alone with its punch
That excites them effectively. Cult leaders can,
By the way of deception, rewrite one’s game plan.
The great leader now chosen may be out to lunch.
But his followers will only have him do more.

Why do some drink the poison while others do not?
It’s a confounding mystery if it makes sense
On some level notwithstanding sheer disbelief
That the congregants gathered will ever feel grief
For their misguided loyalty to blatant offense.
Desperate acts of the cult leader thicken the plot.

Restlessness Of The Natives

TheMagicRealist.com

Many natives are restless these days, it would seem.
Someone’s dialed up the heat in this fine melting pot.
We shall simmer within it, but others, beware…
If you’re fleeing from violence, we simply don’t care.
We are self-righteous natives. You people are not!
If you come near our border, like children, we’ll scream.

Holy Smokes! There’s a Caravan headed this way.
Those damned nachos are nasty. They bring with them crime.
They will all become Democrats and take our jobs.
They will dirty our streets and hang out in big mobs.
Even though they’re on foot, they’ll be here in no time.
We must now send armed forces to keep them at bay.

This old theme is familiar. The costumes may change
As we make of our goblins our most morbid fears.
We have been throughout history creatures on edge
And consumed with division and driving a wedge
Between one’s own and others. Our future appears
To be fateful. Then, trick or treat isn’t so strange.

Live Anger Free

TheMagicRealist.com

If my responsibility for how I act
Is an accurate image of just how I feel,
Then how come I don’t care if I’m driven insane
To the point where deep anger is hard to contain?
Livid hallucination is tempered surreal
And played out in atrocity for full impact.

People don’t carry buttons that they press at will
To control my emotions for better or worse.
That’s a bit of fake news I can live well without.
Human nature is troublesome without a doubt.
If someone else could control me, that would be a curse.
I alone push my buttons with unconscious skill.

I control how I feel. That’s a good thing to know
And to remind myself of more often than not.
I’ve a fondness for fooling with switches and dials.
I shall mess with my own and then generate smiles.
No one can make me angry, and they shouldn’t ought.
Since I know I control myself, I’m good to go.

Grow Your Intelligence

TheMagicRealist.com

The mind wants to believe things. It knows it cannot,
Because things worth believing are those of the heart.
What the intellect does is it helps us get by,
And the healthier it is, the less we will try.
If it tries to hold credence, it may fall apart
Or become quite the monkey and manic in thought.

The mind is made to know things it cannot believe,
Even though there’s a limit to what it can know.
It can know this is so even though there’s no proof
Because that comes through feeling – not being aloof
When expressing our thoughts as they leisurely flow.
The mind is good for focusing what we perceive.

Intellect is magnetic, induced to the brain
By the source of all knowing. Like leaves of the tree
Taking sunlight, the brain takes in all it can get.
As it gets what it needs, it will know no regret.
What we learn from our source is to know how to be
In the real world without fear and with little strain.

How Does Karma Work?

TheMagicRealist.com

Esoteric in nature, or simple logic…?
Karma has much to do with the way that I feel.
It determines not what circumstances I’ll make
But how I will get through them with little heartache.
The observer knows not what the truth may reveal.
The ‘poor’ leper may feel that life is a picnic.

The child brings it upon himself that he is born
With deformity? It’s not as simple as that.
Karma teaches his parents with him as its aid.
What they learn from him then is to not be afraid
For there’s nothing but ego that we need combat.
It along with the intellect instigates scorn.

When the mind is not active in such a big way
Then the decision making engine is at rest.
I may function by impulse and tendency well
And accrue not much karma nor catch any hell.
Life is fragile beyond what can be best expressed.
To know this more completely for now is to pray.

Church For The Halibut

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s a place of communion for people of faith
With events that are centered sometimes around food.
To gavotte or to gallivant on the church grounds
Is a choice of delight when good seafood abounds.
We can put ourselves squarely in worshiping mood
Every day of the week, though we can’t reach the eighth.

But don’t go to church just for the halibut please.
The potluck of profundity purports to pay
Some attention to kinship and brotherly love.
As our palates are placated we look above
In thanksgiving for having a wonderful day.
To consume what is righteous is done so with ease.

So, do not, for the halibut, cut yourself short
Of the other fine entrees that come from the sea.
As five loaves and two fishes will feed the big crowd
It would take much more halibut than is allowed
By the church’s small budget unfortunately.
Go to church then to eat well and show your support.

Backslashed

TheMagicRealist.com

Cryptic language dot com, backslash, give me a break!
I have never been hash tagged. Am I then fresh meat?
In reverse I am forward slashed or italic.
When straight up I am pipe. That’s a pretty neat trick!
To succumb to the character taken by heat
Is to truly be taken aback for love’s sake.

The mere mention of back may put some on attack.
But let’s face it. The backslash so backhandedly
Slashes more than just web pages into their parts.
In some ways, it brings romance and blending of hearts.
Where else can it be useful? We could wait and see
What the sky of creation shines forth with no lack.

It’s ironic the backslash was made for machines.
Languages that they use give them means to perform
All instructions in order to give a result
That is slightly more accurate than the occult.
An appropriate backslash will weather the storm.
Life nor language is lacking by no given means.

What Is The Third Eye?

TheMagicRealist.com

Who knows what The Third Eye is? Don’t all shout at once.
Every ‘I’ is of upper case. All are the same.
If I think it’s a gland at the pit of the brain,
Those who know better would say that that is inane.
But it is simple ignorance. No one’s to blame.
To consider it physical is of no bunce.

Dialectical cultures depend on logic.
Constantly things are taken too literally.
There are energy centers along the brain stem.
There is much I can see if I just align them
To allow kundalini to flow well through me.
To see beyond the physical, that is the trick.

The Third Eye is enlightenment, and it takes time,
Dedication to focusing deeply within,
And a simple reliance on daily routine.
As I move toward the vision, much love I’ll have seen.
Truly nothing will work to get under my skin.
Such a lofty reward justifies the steep climb.