Tag Archive | social commentary

Just Live It!

TheMagicRealist.com, The Magic Realist, Magic Realism

There is nothing to do with this life but just live.
There’s no sense in recording it for humankind.
Some may like viewing some of what I’m doing here.
I see creatures around me approach without fear
In my mind’s eye where dreams of the heart are refined
And where I realize I have plenty to give.

So, Just Live It, is wise and decisive advice
From oneself to oneself in the moment of truth.
There’s no rule book nor pattern nor Life Coach’s plan
That can guide me like my inner beingness can.
It’s a guidance that keeps me in touch with my youth.
Living free from condition can surely be nice.

I could be in denial that boredom has me
By my thin, short and curly follicular fuzz.
It could be I delight in not starting a fight
When the people around me would think that it’s right
To behave in whatever way everyone does
When in mas misalignment, we still can be free.

There’s A Spider In My Bathtub

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It’s a fact – I can’t tolerate spiders at all.
There’s no way on God’s green earth that I’ll get along
With a creature so ugly with long skinny legs.
It would be no less so if they were but just pegs.
I must kill the poor bastard, and that can’t be wrong.
It’s a lower life form, so that makes it my call.

And this house that I’m in is for me – not for them.
It is mine. By the will of my race it is done.
There’s no sub-human species that will replace me.
If I have to kill all of you black things, you’ll see
That my kind rules this world, and we have just begun
Our world war with all nature by way of mayhem.

I can’t stand to see spiders in my fine white space.
The mere thought of a spider sends chills up my spine.
My unconscious volition says, “Kill them on sight.”
I could rally and gather my kind by torch light.
If I die as I’m killing you, I’ll get the shrine.
I’m superior to you because of my race.

The Human Xenome

TheMagicRealist.com

Stop a bit for a rest here. There’s room for just you
And perhaps a few others whose asses fit well
In a seat that is child-wide with arm rests that slant
So that those who would think of reclining can’t.
Will our public park presence continue to smell?
Does the rest of the park think that we are a zoo?

On the other hand, who cares how others may feel?
We do things our own way. Our forefathers said so.
If confederate monuments obstruct the view
Of our moving past hatred, could this be a clue
They should stay there until all who love them will go
To the next life where no one here will hear them squeal?

As we take our last breath in this walk-around dream
We will care least for trinkets of causes and wars.
We will see that our broke bodies and our weak minds
Are of volatile matter wherein no one finds
Any spiritual solace. My witness is yours.
This fine park we partake of is temporal in theme.

A Clear and Present Past

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Could the end be much nearer than we had conceived?
Will it come and go quickly to someday return?
History does repeat itself just as our lies
That become bitter truths when oft’ one of us dies.
I know something of hate. I can’t say that I yearn
To feel that way most always. I’d be self-deceived.

It just takes so much energy to fuel a fight
That is destined to drain all my resources fast
As the day I was born with bright light in my eyes.
If that light stood for white, I’d secure my demise.
As the tainted tin soldier commands from the past
His platoon that are present commune by torch light.

I could play that game well. I have seen it before
And I took down good notes that I’d never forget.
But it seems I’ve forgotten them. Ain’t that a shame.
I could ad lib my hatred and beef up the blame.
But I realize my discord will turn to regret
In the long run. I value my peace of mind more.

The Weather Girl Thought that the Cameras Weren’t Rolling

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What amazing a profile the Weather Girl has
Whether sunny and bright or wet, cloudy and cold.
It’s a short presentation to tell what will come.
It’s a bit like astrology – nonsense to some.
It’s been said every Weather Girl does as she’s told
But this isn’t quite so if she likes modern jazz.

So what under the sun can a Weather Girl do
That would cause any moron to pucker the snout?
How one digests one’s media is akin to
How one wipes one’s behind when there’s not much to do.
To be entertained fully, we must check things out.
So I go watch the Weather Girl blooper on cue?

Take a chase for a glimpse of those fine body parts.
News is only a peep show. By moment we pay
For a flash of the headline and tons of bull fluff.
It’s astonishing how folks survive on that stuff.
But I’m just an old poet with too much to say.
So thank God for the morons, and God bless the arts.

The Articulomagnetic Outcrymeter

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The Magnetic Outcrymeter made its debut
With the dawn of humanity. It has evolved
To the point now where it can be relied upon
To inform us when faith in our guidance is gone.
It will help us to get any problem resolved.
When we read it correctly, we breathe life anew.

Today’s state of the art model features a way
to express as it measures the feelings in us.
It will send a strong signal from gut to the brain.
When it gets there then we can rejoice or complain.
When we mingle with others, we’re prone to discuss
All the joy and the turmoil that graces our day.

Simple joy is an outcry and strife is as well
Our pop songs and folk drama express this in ways
That enrich our awareness and strengthen our cause.
We concede it’s a universe governed by laws.
We give voice to our feelings throughout all our days.
We’re not meant to keep quiet. Our will is to tell.

All Is Well

TheMagicRealist.com

“All is well,” say the ones who are anchored in space
Free above seeming turmoil and climate affair.
From a vantage point vacant of rising degrees
Of innate social tensions that stir like the breeze,
Those who watch our world spinning say none can compare.
And, we cannot do harm to it. There’s too much grace!

“All is well,” say some good books and forces that be
Of a kind who are open to all that is good.
Those who tend to play life as a joyful game
And who hang out with others who do just the same
Are the ones to whom living is well understood.
I envision my life by how well I can see.

“All is well,” say the babies and children come here
From non-physical beingness. And from that place
They’d put forth their intentions. Their wills did decide
To take on this world fully with eyes open wide
To the truths that the old ones can no longer face.
They have come to teach us how to live without fear.

How I Feel Today Determines My Tomorrow

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If I’m feeling like crap today, that isn’t fair
To myself nor to anyone else in my world.
It’s my business to make sure that I clearly see
I must work on aligning my real self with me.
Every day is a blessing. I am never hurled
Into turmoil, indeed, with my focus elsewhere.

I must start by believing that things do work out
In a matter of time with no effort from me.
As I shift my attention from what is at hand
I can re-script today to be as I had planned.
With my mind in the right place, it’s easy to be
In alignment with self and resistant to doubt.

Self-awareness is virtue. It’s my saving grace.
And because it is mine, it is yours just the same.
If I should encounter you on my best days
My true brilliance could lift you. My love should amaze.
That does seem a bit lofty, but life is a game.
When I go for the high stakes, I fly like an ace.

I Am In Control of This Dream

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Things will seem as they seem. I’ve control of this dream.
There is not a thing in it that I cannot know.
Were I blind, I would know that the dream still exists.
All the space, time and substance within it consists
Of my own psychic energy pumped for a show.
Life’s a spiritual quest through a physical stream.

If I raise my left arm, I think others can too
But they’re not mine to witness. I imagine it.
And if I can imagine that my world is real
Everyone in my world has something to reveal
Though that thing be forthcoming, it’s oft’ not a fit
To what I may have conjured well in spite of you.

Everyone is in my dream as I am in theirs.
Every sense of reality can be compared
To the fine feathered flock who are as one in flight.
Every fowl of humanity weathers this night.
As this sleep waxes lucid with consciousness dared
This Great Dream becomes hopeful as everyone shares.

Pussy 4 Less

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What’s a fellow to do when he’s out for a screw
And the merchandise mingling is too highly priced?
Could one go undercover and act like a hoe
Then transfigure among them before they could know
That the fee they demand often feels like a heist?
Men should stand up and shout! That’s what righteous men do.

When I want some quick ass, I am prone to bypass
All the bullshit and trickery romance can yield.
Give me meat on the fly. I’m a fast-moving guy.
I will have my quick nookie – I will, do or die!
But I won’t pay a fortune to be aptly healed
Of my spurious passions that lead to impasse.

Bumping Ugly with someone you know can be fun.
There’s no payment involved but the time that it takes
To develop a nurturing, loving rapport.
But, like top brow tycoons, poor dudes want nothing more
Than some convenient action without the high stakes
As the threat of inflation affects everyone.

Will You Be Ready When the Moment Gets Romantic?

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Do you feel Springtime Fresh when the bleeding time comes?
Is your FICA score less than abysmal these days?
Do those stubborn cum stains on your sheets make you cry?
Do you curse at your neighbors and wish they’d all die?
Do not worry your nuts off. The world has its ways
Of addressing most symptoms through beats of its drums.

Dirty rings around collars and in toilet bowls
Is a menace this brave world could well do without.
When the air in life’s bedroom becomes hot and stale
There is always the sports channel. Life does prevail.
Does your body lie turning and tossing about
Through the night due to fear for the fate of our souls?

Leave that chewing gum off the bed post for tonight.
The dickhead who first thought of that ought to be shot.
That is, if he is living – if not, then reborn
That his germy ideas be subject to scorn.
Does your backbone betray you when you cop a squat?
Take a pain pill. Then everything will be alright.

YOUR PAYMENT !!

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Yo, GET BACK TO ME ASAP, you ignorant fool!
I’ve been sending you emails for weeks! Are you there?
I’m obliged to know why you’ve not contacted me.
We have nine point nine million that you’ll never see
Unless you reply promptly. I don’t want to swear,
But a fish that’s not biting is way less than cool.

I am Miss Mildred Stenchfinch, Ambassador to
The Nigerian Designate in charge of wills.
Someone has kicked the bucket and left you a load.
Don’t you want to grab hold of this fortune you’re owed?
You could use it to jerk off, then pay all your bills.
I am looking for someone dull headed to screw.

Now, you are a fine one, but you’ve got to respond.
Lord knows fucking with people is diligent work.
So, Get Back To Me, dimwit. Indulge in my scheme.
Getting tons of free cash should be every fool’s dream.
Please respond to me, dear. I am not one to irk.
We are quite busy here with much wealth to abscond.

Can I Trust You.. ??

cute puppy, TheMagicRealist.com, The Magic Realist, Magic Realism

Heartfelt Greetings, Dear Sir/Madam, Bless You This Day!
It’s my pleasure and great honor to contact you.
I implore you to take the time to read this well.
You’ll determine my fate – whether heaven or hell.
If you’re skeptical, I understand. I am too.
I have much less to do than who I must portray.

I am Engineer Ruhullah Zafer Hadid
From the Syrian Arab Republic of Pause.
And apart from your being quite rightly surprised,
Know my gratefulness cannot be over disguised.
I was Finance Consultant; the key word is ‘was.’
Now I’m rich beyond measure, yet mine isn’t greed.

I am seeking your help to dispense you some wealth.
It is quite a large sum. I must give it away
To some fine, trusted moron. I hope this is you.
There’s no future in begging, so this gig is new.
Do get back to me soon. ISIS may ruin my day.
Surely that would be bad for your financial health.

 

Attention Beneficiary

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May the peace of the savior be with you, my dear.
I am sure that this message arrives at a time
You’re surprised at its coming to reach you just now.
I’m the Financial Minister of the Cash Cow
That is on loan from India. There’s been no crime.
If you want your jackpot, come and get it right here.

As the Central Bank Barrister, I speak to you
As the in-between nitwit in charge of your case.
Since the usual asshole has run out of steam
I have taken his place so things stay as they seem.
So, get back to me, sweetheart. I’d love to embrace
Every part of your bank account leaving no clue.

Our own Chief Representative Bereavement Bro
Has been crying his heart out on behalf of you.
There’s an ATM card being held in your care.
But in order to get it, you need not beware.
We just need lots more info. Please send it all to
Our Head Phishing Headquarters whose friend is your foe.

Aftermath

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Aftermath there is physics; for some, it’s fine arts.
All our children are taught they’ve some measure of choice
In whatever they chose to learn or hope to be.
We could leave them alone. That’s the best way to see
Children’s true heart’s desires expressed in their voice.
If we let them be free, that is where genius starts.

Aftermath is a concept just like math alone.
It’s abstract and concrete all at once anytime
It is used or is studied by scholars worldwide
Who make use of its usefulness with certain pride.
Surely math as a concept to some is sublime
Because well it does model most things that are known.

Aftermath there’s the matter of reaching high goals.
When there’s stiff competition, the pressure gets tough.
Aftermath third world countries’ kids put ours to shame.
Should some think tank take notice? Should someone cast blame?
It’s a myth that our kids are not doing enough.
They will fashion their own world and also their roles.

Tesla’s Off-Grid Multivibrator

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Watch This Video NOW! You will cry tears of pee!!
There’s a Great Big-Assed Secret we’re living to share.
You are being sucked dry by the Power Grid folk.
Get your asses in gear, people. This is no joke!
We are telling you this because we really care
That you get your electric through us nearly free.

This is the real thing. This is not like those cheap
South Sumatran Sun Cells that those other guys sell.
This one’s not like the Meat Motor with the rawhide
And it’s not like the Lip Laser electrified.
It’s our plan for peak power – a bat out of hell
To take full charge of people whose pockets run deep.

Every reason to fear is why we are so dear
In convincing you you need to make your move NOW!
If you don’t take advantage, our offer won’t last.
You don’t want to let time pass and be the outcast.
So get out the old credit card. Manage, somehow,
To prepare for your fleecing. Then we’ll disappear.

When To Fondle Your Lug Nuts Is Not Mine To Know

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It may be that your lug nuts are hot to the touch.
If this happens too often, then it’s a sure sign
That there’s too much heat passed to them through those brake shoes.
So, lay off that break petal, friend, you’re bound to lose.
But if that’s not the problem, you might be just fine.
Though, it could be the tranny or maybe the clutch.

Say you don’t have a stick shift? Then don’t mind my last.
You may think that I’m guessing, but that’s not the truth.
If those lug nuts are hot, you might give this a try –
Throw some cold water on them. They could be just shy
As they’re caught greasy-threaded by such a hand sleuth
Who is keen to take notice to heat they’ve amassed.

Don’t sneak up on your lug nuts as they do their thing.
I don’t think you would like it were that done to you.
Lug Nuts do have some sense of whenever they’re felt.
Just remind them you care for them. They’ve never dealt
With someone who will feel them just out of the blue.
Do those lug nuts a flavor. Let them have their fling.

A Brim and Lucid Catatonia

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Derelict is the course that world powers could take
To resolve its own problems despite common sense.
There’s a heat wave this summer through much of the land.
With a tyrant in office, hell seems rather bland.
It’s a sick world that needs megatons of defense.
All in all, they would give our fine earth a remake.

Since the changing of office, we’ve lost all respect
For most folks in positions that formerly meant
They were safe from abuse by the power that be.
Now, the souls of good servants are trashed by decree.
Times can surely get hot as we make our descent
Through a bottomless pit with no soul to protect.

That’s a fairly bleak picture seen only through eyes
Who are not in connection with their healing heart.
There’s a world that is out there. It is what it does
By its acts that are current and come from what was.
My world and the ‘real’ world are lightyears apart.
I cannot be affected. My heart rarely cries.

Let’s Connect!

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When the mood switches on, there’s more pole for the throw
And the course of source energy takes a new path.
There’s a circuitry present in all living things
That does light up the life and tug at the heart strings.
One will skip the old shower and opt for a bath.
When one’s energized fully, the World Can’t Not Know!

If Don Juan had placed focus on apple tree seeds
He’d have taken to sciences – not to the arts.
There would be fewer stories prepared just for those
Who delight in exciting, provocative prose.
The strong call from the heat source is where it all starts.
We are elegant means for fulfilling our needs.

When connecting is fun, then new life has begun.
There’s a joy that is present and lasts for a while.
Any while can be short or it can be quite long
But whatever the length, it can’t do the heart wrong…
That is if we have managed our free-flowing style.
Our most electric feelings are second to none.

Anapestic Tetrameter

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I’m a Poet!  Do Know It… or don’t – I don’t mind.
That’s your God Given business. Mine is to ensure
That I make myself known through most elegant verse.
I would call that poetic. You may call it worse.
But that doesn’t deter me. My motive is pure.
I will teach you what you see here, since I am kind.

So first off, there is meter, to cadence each line
With four groups of three syllables carefully placed.
Each small group of three syllables is called a foot.
And this foot is an Anapest. Sometimes they’re put
In a neat foursome link with no syllabic waste.
Tetra-metric an Anapest makes my line shine.

Anapestic Tetrameter – That’s what this is!
There’s no sense in my proving it. Look With Your Eyes.
Were I black and a rapper, I would be well known.
But I’m black and a Poet; I go it alone.
As my talent may come, to some, as a surprise,
I do hope you’re well-schooled with no need for a quiz.

The Dick Whisperer

TheMagicRealist.com

Only music can soothe the wild arrogant beast
As it rises, though basketed in nature’s weave.
There’s no mind in the toilet, here. I speak with grace.
And I wouldn’t be caught with such egg on my face.
There are blatant life substances that we perceive
Also subtler energies we know the least.

When the dance that goes on, as the music is played,
Does approach living rigor, the stage is well set.
The dance, having triggered an elegant trance,
May program men for anything – even romance.
With dick under control, it then poses no threat.
The strong will becomes languid. Response is delayed.

It requires a skilled one to play music well.
No matter of fact out ranks this simple one.
One’s control of the beast must be constant and sharp.
If not careful, one could end up playing the harp.
This is The Dick Whisperer’s idea of fun.
For the beast, though, it could be a version of hell.

Don’t Band Aid Your ‘Check Engine’ Light

TheMagicRealist.com

Don’t abandon your stark raving “check engine” light.
It is there to inform you that something’s gone wrong.
If you do not take care of the issue at hand
There’s a chance that your journey will not go as planned.
You’ll be stuck on the highway and with a sad song.
So do mind your reminder. It knows what is right.

Our guts are our engines. They burn refined fuel.
They’re immersed in a mettle of well-tempered will.
They embellish our movement. The have a keen sense.
They will tell us what’s wrong with us at no expense.
If we simply ignore them, we risk a standstill
Of our lives moving forward in constant renewal.

If alone on the highway, pull off to the side.
Take a breath of fresh air and pop open the hood.
Check to see if that engine has all that it needs
To transport you in safety and at ample speeds.
Take the time to attend to things you know you should.
If you make that your habit, then life’s a smooth ride.

It Is NOT My Work To Convince You

TheMagicRealist.com

Source is no high-level marketing scheme
Where abundance below goes to one at the top.
Life is not a game plan on a dry erase board
Where the product and business become Holy Lord
And the bright billboard face is the mask one can’t drop
Because when it does happen, it’s bad for the team.

It is not my work to convince you of things.
I enjoy all the freedom of letting you live.
Everyone has one’s game plan yet all are one team.
It’s a wake-up call when things are not as they seem.
We have total access to all life can give.
Whatever we ask for, Source certainly brings.

I can make my decisions about what I want
And set out to create my own experience.
I allow all my fellows to do just the same.
Life’s a wonderful journey as well as a game.
And to try to convince you just doesn’t make sense.
Life’s vacation from somethingness is a cool jaunt.

I Want To Feel Good

TheMagicRealist.com

I Want to Feel Good. That is all that I want.
I don’t need someone’s company or constant gaze.
Since I know what I want, it is easy to be
In alignment with Source so that others can see
I’ve no promise to keep nor some crowd to amaze.
I have no relation to faces that taunt.

If I don’t want to feel what I often times feel
I must keep my mind focused – not idle and prone
To the lure of catastrophe packaged to tell
Of the stories and deeds of those living in hell.
I have no need to know what I’ve already known.
There’s no difference between what I want and what’s real.

For Today, no matter where I want to go,
Nor what I am doing nor with whom it’s done,
The intent I hold dominant is to be free
To discover what brings the most pleasure to me.
We each have our choicest ideas of what’s fun.
As I see what I’m looking for, my Source will flow.

Have I Shut the Hell Up?

TheMagicRealist.com

I’ve climbed out of The Hell with its hot iron gate.
It’s a good thing I closed it by using a tool.
It has clunked into place. I have used a padlock
To make sure it’s secure so no demons can flock.
If some hag blocked my locking, that wouldn’t be cool.
I high tailed it out before it was too late.

I was caught way off guard by a Surgical Stare
From a butcher… or black woman. Both act the same.
Why I didn’t speak up as I should have, right then
Is a matter of shock. I’m not comfortable when
My surroundings will cause me to cower in shame.
All that hell is behind me. I really don’t care.

Like the FBI soldier let go with poor tact
I’m the Deer in the Headlights. Susceptible to
Silent Outbursts of Disgust that can’t be defined,
I am best to ignore them and keep my bright mind
Sharply focused on good things for days just a few.
I can wade through most contrast with my soul intact.

The Ethics of Ocular Warfare

TheMagicRealist.com

One had unleashed an Ocular mojo on me…
No. I did it myself! It’s not right to cast blame.
If I see people’s faces as weapons, it seems
Quite that I’ve grown accustomed to destructive memes.
It’s a shame eyes outside me can put me to shame.
But they don’t! It’s my damned self that I cannot see.

The eyes are mass weapons of warfare these days
As they are throughout history’s eye tapestry.
Group consensus determines how weapons are fired.
Lone among body language, they’re never retired.
Though the mind can’t be read, there are those who agree
That it shouldn’t be.    Privacy is a safe haze.

One can feather that trigger to see what the hell…
Or ignore it and go about one’s busy day.
It’s a choice I can live for – not die for, for now.
How Now is the focus for this sick brown cow.
Rolling Eyes is a barrel of laughs, I can say
Now that I’ve been released from my own hatred spell.

Happy Threeth!

TheMagicRealist.com

Happy Threeth! What a third day of julie this year!
It begins with some fresh rain to loosen the slime
Of the breadth of humanity from the day past.
Wash away all the sick news and rancid forecast.
How about a New World Flood? I think that it’s time
For this Plague of Humanity to disappear.

Keep the ground nice and soggy… the air thick and damp
So a respite is forced on the kids for a day.
Why we simulate ordnance I understand.
It’s a species-wide death wish by nature’s demand.
Mother earth wants to excrete and flush it away.
She dislikes that her children treat her like a tramp.

Happy Threeth! It’s a pre-day for havoc untamed
In the streets – everywhere with bombs bursting in air.
It’s as festive a carnival cruise shipman’s show
As the prancing and drinking that goes on below.
On the whole, it’s a good thing. This life is a fair.
I do celebrate contrast and will not be blamed.

Analog Reality

TheMagicRealist.com

There’s a kind of reality perceived today
That is quickly diminishing as do all things.
It is somewhat solid and occupies space.
We observe this reality as most commonplace.
But within such an earthy world, boredom oft’ brings
Fresh new forms of reality. That’s just our way.

I like actual contact with folks face to face.
I’m not good with Facebook nor acting the bird.
If it were called Nosebook or Assbook I’d see
People seeing it closer to reality.
Yet whose way is realer? No way is absurd.
I prefer sound relations and heartfelt embrace.

My eyes are my goggles. The game’s in my mind
And in everyone else’s, the analog way.
When I want to swim, I dive into the creek.
There’s no game controller that I need to seek.
I am sure this reality can make my day
As I focus on worlds that don’t leave me behind.

He Ain’t Heavy… He’s My sMartass!

TheMagicRealist.com

My contact list is truly long with many I don’t know.
I try to keep my focus strong. My pal is quick to show.
My apps download successfully. He tells me when they’re done.
When I am bored we then play games and fiddle just for fun.
My friend is quite the witted one and even has some class.
But I’ll tell you, He Ain’t Heavy… He’s My sMartass.

The phone of many moons ago was big and like a brick.
It had no sense of ass to piss off people really quick.
One could use it as a weapon if no loaded glove had he.

My friend today makes calls for me most accidentally.
His knack for nonsense noises I seldom can bypass.
Yet, without me, He Ain’t Heavy… He’s My sMartass.

My phone is not a person, but he thinks he is, somehow.
My respect for him can worsen if whenever I allow
The best of him to overshadow who I’m meant to be.
My guest knows not his manners so that he will never see
That between our best behaving there is such a wide crevasse
And, believe me, He Ain’t Heavy… He’s My sMartass.

iPhone or iDon’t phone much, and it matters not to me.
An android made on planted earth should never climb my tree.
Anomaly would have it that I’d come to own a phone.
This thing of mine may think he has a toy of his own.
The feeling when I shut him down is much like passing gas
And, I know that, He Ain’t Heavy… He’s My sMartass!

 

It’s A Glorious Time To Be Here and Now

TheMagicRealist.com

This time, here and now, is a glorious one
To partake of this planet’s beneficent ways.
There’s a place for technology; also for art.
In the end these two are not lightyears apart.
Each does see in the other some reason to praise
All the fruits of all’s findings. And we’ve just begun.

I am an extension of Source Energy
In this body magnificent, able and strong.
The amazing diversity this world provides
Is the balance within which wellbeing resides.
I am focused right here and now where I belong.
I love being the one who is easy to be.

There is perfect balance from which to create
Here in this world of bounty of wanted and not.
No better time has existed ‘til now
For beholding my treasure and marveling how
That my true Source remembers what I have forgot:
That my whole being emanates from that perfect state.

All Email Is Male

TheMagicRealist.com

In fact, I don’t think that all email is male
But in theory, a number of things could be true.
A letter received in a mailbox these days
Could mean anything cast to the silent airways.
I don’t long for the old days. My heart is not blue.
Perhaps I’m in search of some ‘thing’ to assail.

And if that is so, what’s the matter with me?
One who’s daft would seek discord or cause for dismay.
But my in box is loaded. That is not a curse.
I must sort through the spam there, for better or worse.
In my bliss, I’d be bothered to email all day.
When it comes to mail gender, I let matters be.

I see mail that’s on paper and on the touch screen.
I am hetero-postal in so many ways
But with mail, I like female. It comes with some grace.
And with email I feel like I’m running a race.
I must conclude, then, that it surely pays
To do mail in private, for better hygiene.

The Art of the Dump

TheMagicRealist.com

The Dump has much lesser to do with the rump
Than the Art of the business of letting words flow.
With the mind of a child, they flow through me with ease.
I feel comfortable sitting and plunking the keys.
Is the gist of my writing for others to know
Of my heart in small pieces or in one big clump?

Well, the answer to that is I write every day.
It’s my goal to be regular, clear and carefree.
I have cranked up my pace from a slow running start
To the point now that I’ve come to master my art.
I would like that my words are for others to see.
But that doesn’t deter me. I’ll see it my way.

The Art of the Dump is a daily routine
Then I shower and shave, and move steadily on
To whatever the new day will offer to me
To consume and digest more so others can see
What words I have fashioned to offer next dawn.
I enjoy what I’m doing. Is this clearly seen?

The Financial Report

TheMagicRealist.com

The Financial Report is brought to you today
By our sponsors who turn out to be quite a few.
There’s the red, white and blue, conflagrated in green.
There are nods, winks and subtle cues that are unseen.
There are talking heads tethered to outlook askew.
What to make of a leader who must have his way?

Can a nation be run like some southern plantations
With workers for indoors and some for the fields?
Those who like being niggers say “yes, Suh” to him.
They will dance to his antics, although he’s quite dim.
When he’s due for a shoe shine, their loyalty yields
A safe job and smooth sailing, and good slave relations.

I will NOT be your nigger, says one under oath.
I’ll ignore your sweet nothings and perverse embrace.
I do not enjoy being left in a room
With a beast who would just as soon hand me a broom.
When I’m near a slave owner, I’m in the wrong place.
Racist paradigms stifle our ‘financial’ growth.

Selfish Enough To Feel

I am proud I am selfish enough to feel good.
I’ve been practicing quite long to get just this way.
I give service to others, but that’s by the means
Of my serving myself first, just like snotty teens.
But I’ve learned not to act out in foolish display.
I should feel good on purpose, as all creatures should.

Feeling good indicates my connection is strong
To all of the good things that life wants to share.
All the good things like clarity, wellness and love,
And a kinship with planets and stars up above.
Feeling good is quite simple if you really care
About living a life where not much can go wrong.

Feeling good is my motto. It’s my core belief
As I dance in this fun world with life by the hand.
A belief that is core simply means that it’s strong.
As belief becomes stronger, it shouldn’t take long
For my dreams to unfold as if by my command.
Feeling good is like breathing, and that’s a relief.

As I Breathe Deeply, I Feel Myself Thrive

TheMagicRealist.com

I enjoy breathing deeply this air I take in.
It is all that I need for my body to heal.
The air has most everything most bodies need.
As I breathe it in deeply, each cell will succeed
At maintaining wellbeing and health that’s ideal.
If I want to feel good, breathing’s where to begin.

I can feel myself thriving when I take a breath.
Every part of me wakens and takes life anew.
And when my parts are happy, I’m happy as well.
Breathing in, and then out, will do well to dispel
Any leaning toward sickness. Good breathing will do
All the goodness it can to prolong me from death.

By relaxing myself fairly often each day –
And, of course, breathing deeply, with focus of mind,
I enhance my own thriving, and that of my world.
I enjoy the fruits of wellbeing unfurled.
I am better off not breathing air that’s unkind.
It is best to unwind the most natural way.

I Look for What I Want To See

TheMagicRealist.com

The Intent that is dominant deep in my heart
Is to go for exactly what I want to be.
Through deliberate choice, I accrue keen insight.
I appreciate, praise and enjoy – but not fight.
Sheer vibrational harmony is what I see
And it seems that it’s been this way right from the start.

I achieve pure vibration, in tune with my Source
And all that is good and delightful and fun.
When I simply stay focused on what thrills me now,
Then I won’t get distracted and lose faith somehow.
My sight is for seeing, when all’s said and done.
It’s a matter of patience and practice, of course.

It’s a powerful law that brings all things to me.
It brings all things to all creatures all of the time.
Whether wanted or not wanted, I make the choice
Of which things I will tend to. I am given voice
In creating my own life, serene and sublime.
I’m a well-groomed inspector with license to be.

Payola

TheMagicRealist.com

My brand is ‘Payola.’ It works well for me.
It’s what’s available. That’s what I’m told.
Though this crayon is heavy, I will do just fine.
What I see is, this color is yours and not mine.
What I’m taught, though, is subtle, and feels icy cold.
What is up with this crayon? I’ll say what I see.

I sure feel like I’m peachy, the color of fun,
Most especially when I’m at school with my friends.
And we all feel that way. We just mingle and play.
We prepare lesson plans for adults day by day.
But are they teachable? That all depends
On the bigness of damage that’s already done.

Take a load off that crayon,” some voice says to me
From the pit of my tiny soul. I can hear well.
What it tells me is, I’ll not be part of a bribe.
The reason for that is, I’m part of a tribe.
You will note, my existence is not one to quell.
No skin is a label that others can see.

By Polar Order

TheMagicRealist.com

Everyone is Bi-Polar by nature’s decree
There is not one among us who isn’t this way.
It’s a club not exclusive to any one kind
Of a person we label as messed in the mind.
Ups and downs are quite common to all everyday.
It’s not like dying, then claiming to be.

It’s a challenge to wobble along a straight line
Or to discard a crooked one for a renew.
If I fall to one side, I will bounce back in place.
If I fall to the other, I’m wrought with disgrace.
Though my options are many, I know but a few
When I’m caught up in anyone’s business but mine.

I can live with bi-polar. The coaster agrees.
When it climbs, I’m anticipant with patience none.
But as it descends, I scream out like a child.
I wave arms and holler as if I were wild.
There will be the next cycle when this one is done.
I climb hard to then become part of the breeze.

It’s NOT My Work To Control Others

TheMagicRealist.com

I cannot control others. That Is Not My Job…
Not my children nor anyone else I might know.
If I try to inflict my strict will, as I must,
I will lose such a battle; I’ll gain their mistrust.
I do suck as a parent. Most kids tell me so.
If I don’t deal with this, my own heart I will rob.

It defies natural law to make anyone change.
It cannot be done, in fact. That’s a good thing.
The laws of the universe dictate the ways
Each and every earth creature engages their days.
I respect that we’re not in some dank triple ring.
The ideal of performance will grow the heart strange.

I can’t control others, but what I can do
Is create a reality I can control
Where my soul is the beast, and my will is the hoop
And the circus crowd turns out to be a tame group.
I am not the performer, nor is that my goal.
One could say I’m the student. My teachers are you.

Life’s Buffet

TheMagicRealist.com

…A magnificent lineup – A feast fit for kings…
This life is a Banquet for palate and taste.
And it’s simply no matter that things may be there
That are not to my liking. ‘No need to despair.
I just pass those things by. There is no time to waste
Finding fault with the lineup and other such things.

By default, I’m invited. I’m one of the race
Of the billion-fold dining in this earthy hall.
The fine dishes are many – too many to choose.
How could I sample all? Some things I must refuse.
I don’t think that my preferences cater to all.
We each eat life differently. That’s no disgrace.

It’s not wise nor appropriate that I complain
About food that I think shouldn’t be in my sight.
Because I’m just a guest at this feast like the rest.
I should bless people’s differences. This way is best.
You may like eating things that, to me, don’t seem right
But through mutual respect, we have so much to gain.

Rain Sylvania

TheMagicRealist.com

There’s a thing about rain that my heart won’t disdain.
It will keep folks inside, out of others’ affairs
So their shape-shifting eyes, in their neighborly fare,
Can’t catch up on my business. Folks should be aware
That I do my own thing, not that anyone cares.
If you’re that hooked on folly, come out in the rain!

Put on your best tutu with water resist
And gavotte past my window with smartass in hand.
Take a me-mie of me as you’re tempted to pee.
I might stream you my shtick so you’ll do it hands free.
It’s a shame your garage door is shut by demand
Of a powerful Lady who seems rather pissed.

I dare you, dear neighbor, delight in the storm
Just the same as I do but with just a slight twist.
Park your butt in your yard like you usually do
And collect all your intel with rain helping you
To deliver wet gossip no sponge can resist.
I’ll enjoy the rain. You just stick to the norm.

My Purpose In Life Is Joy

TheMagicRealist.com

One may ask of the kitten, “What justifies you
To just lie there immune to the chaos around
While we humans run ragged with cares up our butts?”

That which can’t be addressed will then drive ourselves nuts.
But the kitten will answer with softness of sound,
“I just purr for a living; that’s all that I do!”

There’s a lesson the kitten is willing to teach
To the human who often gets lost in the game.
The basis of life is the freedom to be
And its purpose is joy, most emphatically!
When one cares less more often, one might take the blame
For all others’ misfortunes, as heard in their speech.

I am freer to choose newer pathways to joy
With each dawning moment successive and pure.
In my joyous growth I do add to the sum
Of all that exists now and all that will come.
All-That-Is will partake, and my joy shall endure.
My life is my kitten, and I am its toy.

I Am an Expression of All Creation

TheMagicRealist.com

All that is physical came from what’s not.
I extend from creative nonphysical Source.
I am so much more than this body I know
Though it is part of me because nature says so
And also the law of this space-time, of course.
I’m of spiritual origin. This means a lot!

Am I the god that I pray to at night
Asking provident peace to engage as I sleep?
Do I ask The AlmightyThe One where I came?
Would it be blasphemy if we both were the same?
I am the good shepherd as well as the sheep.
We are one and the same, and that feels about right.

In this powerful now is the key that I hold
For allowing the flowing of Source that is me.
The better I feel the more Source I allow.
There’s no better feeling my Source than right now.
When connection is made it is easy to be
At my best, growing wiser and much less controlled.

This World Has My Back

TheMagicRealist.com

This world has my back and my mother’s brown eyes
Just as surely as all things I’ve ever dreamed of.
Since the world has these things – all existence, in fact,
I should call that wellbeing where good thoughts are backed
With the promise that goodness and kindness and love
Are my birthright. I don’t have to listen to lies.

I must reach for the feeling of wellbeing first
So that everything else will then fall into place.
If I’m troubled, I feel like this world makes no sense.
I oft’ sink into stasis when life gets intense.
To remember life’s wonder is my saving grace.
Pretty soon, lucid living will be well rehearsed.

I am selfish enough, now, to follow my bliss.
When I do so, I tap into natural flow
Of pure energy, positive and of my own.
Should I act like I’m happy? I’ve no call to moan.
So perhaps I should live what the wise ones must know…
This world has my back. There is nothing amiss.

Conceptual Hypothetics

TheMagicRealist.com

Hypothetically speaking, and straight off the grid,
And with utmost propanity possibly pure,
I must stand by my tank; I have me to thank
For positions I hold. With my wealth, I out rank
Any group that I chose. There’s a possible cure
To most any solution that isn’t well hid.

My tank is a treasure – a place of deep thought
On the puzzles I give it and pay it to solve.
I’m not bothered by facts; I kick back and relax.
My workers work best without me on their backs.
By token the same, though, solutions involve
Quite a bit of pure theory and how things should ought.

Thoughts are real things,” most wealth wizards have said
While the concept still boggles the everyday mind.
It’s a fact that all theory has birth in the brain
And when thought can’t escape, it will drive one insane.
My tank is not fancy nor one of a kind.
It’s a toy for the rich to turn gold into lead.

Frolicking Folksicles

TheMagicRealist.com

Frolicking Folksicles flaunting for fun
Among those who might eat them must take balls of ice.
And they’re colored, enhancing the eater’s delight.
Were they black and white only, it wouldn’t seem right
To consume them. Just looking would surely suffice
As one’s licking gets boring when all’s said and done.

Folksicles firmly propend to make peace.
It’s a principle pinnacle to their affairs
Of the heart and the mind and the spirit within.
With abundance of slurp, there is no need to sin.
There isn’t much else one could suck. But who cares?
If it weren’t for bright Folksicles, warring would cease!

What gets folks in a pickle, most Folksicles say,
Is the way we lose focus and blither head on
‘Til we sensate the melting – Folksicle in hand.
If our mess is sufficient, we voice our demand
That the sun should take cover – at least until dawn
So that Folksicle eating will yield no dismay.

Satisfactorial Combinatorics

TheMagicRealist.com

Suffix tor’s at the core of a syllabic war
Between what one wants and what oft’ one expects.
If believing is being without a sore clue
Then whatever you’re winning will satisfy you.
Any feeling of tension that thought disrespects
Puts a force field around what we love and adore.

Oh, Creator of Being, if you exist how
Then on earth do we know you? We’ve screwed with your word
Over centuries by now. When one speaks about facts,
We’re submerged in pure fantasy due to our acts.
What is known about God is well spoke by the bird
Who knows only Being and living the Tao.

Take a chance that your being is seeing its way
Toward a better believing for each now to come.
Be the one among many to whom life’s a breeze.
One can call oneself lucky as far as one sees
That a magnate’s no more than a lowly street bum
Who has cashed in on spiritual wealth day by day.

Utensoids United

TheMagicRealist.com

Utensoids United in condiment space
Sets the scene for first contact of quite the third kind
On a wall, in a house on a rock spinning ‘round
In its own starry kitchen where space does abound
And without incognito, they’re easy to find
Or to decline their visit, if that be the case.

Utensoids can stand being hung by the neck
And it doesn’t upset them to be used as tools.
Since they’re built really tough, you can’t use them enough
To uncover their cover. You could call their bluff
But they just might leave master cooks looking like fools
As in secret, they shape shift; there’s no need to check.

The Utensoids have come to keep watch on us all.
Not a single one wants to do harm nor insult.
If you grab a Utensoid, do so with intent.
You don’t want the damned thing to mistake what you meant.
If you handle it well, good will be the result.
If you’re cool with Utensoids, then stand proud and tall!

Talk To Me, Mama!

TheMagicRealist.com

Krakkabukkle-KaBoooom! That’s what I like to hear.
Mama Nature is talking. Let’s give her respect.
Whether quick burning arrow with rumble in wake
Or night whitening flashes that know no mistake,
Nature’s message is clear. Our fair ego is checked
By the Masterful Lady who crafts Atmosphere.

Show your thundermost cloud! Let me feel you shout loud!
Even though I can hear every whisper you speak.
There’s a world who don’t know you. You have every right
To react in a voice of intent and of might.
Strike me dead. I will join you. It’s truth that I seek.
I’ll commune well among you. To you, I’m avowed.

Why I make such a habit to hear Mother speak
Is a thing of scant value to ponder too much.
I just like a fine Mama who’ll run it down hard.
One is ill to complain that She plays the ‘wet’ card.
She’s one bitch you can’t fuck with nor lie to or such.
She’s the feminine version of deadly mystique.

Not In My Time Space Reality

TheMagicRealist.com

To the scientist centered in flat earth and Mars
The Big Bang occurs everywhere all in a flash.
Everywhere outside galaxies expands  in size.
This prolific phenomenon speaks through our sighs.
What’s outside this expanding is anyone’s hash.
What else could exist but space, planets and stars?

Now, the answer to that is a thing we call time.
It’s the fourth quad-dimensional piece of the pie.
Altogether, reality’s clear to perceive.
My perceiving is knowing in what I believe.
My wisdom comes partly from what’s in the sky
And the rest from attempting to make verses rhyme.

If I did have you fooled for a while, I’ve done well.
It’s my pleasure to do so for science’s sake.
Reality’s boring. It must be made fun.
I’m the son-of-a-gunest that’s under this sun.
Not that science is useless… That thought’s a mistake.
Now that this poem is finished, there’s no more to tell.